


Blood Be Damned

by makapedia, rokkasen



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Siblings, F/F, F/M, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokkasen/pseuds/rokkasen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka never asked for a brother. Soul never asked to crush on his best friend's little sister. Black Star was pretty sure they both needed hearty helpings of Jesus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Houses

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Maka/B*S Siblings AU.

Maka never asked for a brother. 

At five, she’d been quite content with being Papa’s little princess and Mama’s little future doctor/lawyer/best selling novelist/something successful. She had Plans, and nothing was going to stand in her way.

But then Papa came home with a bundle of blue hair and loud ( _ **loud**_ ) shouting, and then suddenly Maka wasn’t an only child anymore. And at the tender age of five, she hadn’t quite grasped the concept of ‘my parents can love both of us equally and I won’t have to battle to reign as the supreme child/sibling/entity’. 

His name was Black Star, he said, and Maka didn’t buy that for a second. Her name was Maka, and she was half Japanese, but Black Star was not a normal name, not for any boy, not for any reason. It was a nick name, and why wouldn’t he tell her his real name? Mama wouldn’t tell her either, and neither would Papa.

He drove her mad. He pulled her pigtails. He ripped the heads off of her favorite Career Barbies and played Godzilla with her Dreamhouse.

But he didn’t let her boss him around, didn’t let her steal his crayons and didn’t let her ever forget that he was going to be a big, big star _and she was going to have the honor of watching from the sidelines, congratulations, pigtails!_

Barf.

But her new brother was good for one thing, and that was teamwork… well, “ _teamwork”,_  when it involved sneaking cookies after 10 at night, while Papa was still out working late and Mama was reading in bed. Black Star was loud during the day and during school, but when he wanted something, he was darn good at getting it. And he was good at sneaking cookies after bed time.

He’d hobble up and hoist her into the counter, she’d crawl over and grab the goods, and together, they’d scamper back to their shared bed room, giggling among themselves and stuffing snicker doodles and no-bakes into their mouths like little rabbits.

So maybe he wasn’t all bad.

x

When Maka was seven and he was eight, Black Star finally started making some friends of his own.

And by that, she meant he stopped trying to steal her friends. Tsubaki, the nice older girl from down the street with the pretty long hair and big blue eyes, tolerated him and was very, very sweet, but she was Maka’s best friend and Black Star needed to get his own! Maka didn't mind sharing, but Black Star was over exuberant and tended to hog all of her time.

… Not that Maka had a hard time making friends, because she didn’t. She had Tsubaki, but she also had Jacqueline, Kid, Kim and Kilik. Even Liz, who was standoffish sometimes, and her sister Patty came over to play with her occasionally.

It wasn’t that Black Star was unfriendly, because he wasn’t — he had an odd sort of charm, she’d learned over the years, and it took some getting used to. Maka still wasn’t 110% accustomed to his brash nature and loud mouth, but he’d punched that nasty Ox Ford and broke his glasses when he picked on her during the spelling bee, so she knew his heart was in the right place.

Soul was Maka’s age. He looked sad most of the time, he always sat by himself on the swings during recess, and he was Black Star’s first friend.

By all means, the friendship shouldn’t have worked. Even at seven, Maka could tell that the boy with the white hair was reserved, way more reserved than anyone who could handle Black Star’s caliber of noise. But it did work, somehow, miraculously — Black Star helped (literally) yank him away from the swings, and Soul brought Black Star down about one and a half notches. When she and him worked together, they could restrain him down to almost normal decibels.

Soul was Black Star’s first friend, and Maka was a good sibling (Papa told her so all of the time), so she wouldn’t intrude upon their time, even if she was very, very curious and wanted to know if his red eyes were real and why he was always so afraid to smile at her. She was nice, really! He could trust her!

It was nice to see him annoy someone besides her. And it was nice to see him smile and laugh at someone else’s misfortune.

It was also nice to watch him punch Ox Ford break his glasses  _again_  for hurrying Soul off of the monkey bars. 

x

"Pigtails," he stage-whispered across the couch. "Do you think Tsubaki’s having fun on her date?"

She was twelve, he was thirteen, and Tsubaki was fifteen. 

Maka continued to shovel Cocoa Puffs into her mouth. It was hard to watch Adventure Time when Black Star was trying to hold a conversation with her. If she ignored him hard enough, eventually he’d desist.

Maybe. He was awfully determined this time.

"I still think we should’ve gone mini golfing with them."

"No, you said, and I quote, ‘ _Mini golfing is for sloppy babies and big stars like me take girls BOWLING on the first date_!’, remember?”

His brows furrowed. “But what if the guy’s a creep? You know Tsu’s too nice to say back off. We should go check up on them.”

"She can take care of herself!" 

She didn’t bring up the fact that Tsubaki’s date was seventeen, and even though Maka was a damn good first basemen and Black Star was the best wrestler in their middle school, she wasn’t sure if picking a fight with someone that much bigger than them was a good idea. And Papa was going to be home soon.

Black Star, however, was too antsy for his own good. She wasn’t sure how he managed to convince her to let him help her finish off her bowl of cereal, yank a sweater on and bike all the way to the fun center down the road, but he had, and they were halfway through scanning the crowd for pretty, tall raven-haired girls when he went stiff beside her.

"What?" she whispered, hushed and anxious. "Did you find her? Are they kissing?"

He shook his head slowly, mouth pulled tight, and pivoted his head to glance at her. Was that pity in his eyes?

"What?" she asked again. "Seriously!"

"…  _Fuck_ , Pigtails.”

"Language! Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad—"

She caught sight of a familiar head of red hair. And then a mane of long, long purple, and pink-manicured nails grabbing at the back of her Papa’s coat.

x

Mama moved out the day before Maka’s thirteenth birthday.

She refused to leave her room, too betrayed to celebrate the day she officially became a teenager. She finally had her own room, and she was going to lock herself away in her sanctuary and cut her Papa out of all of their family photos. Not even Black Star was allowed in.

She was ignoring Tsubaki’s calls on her (new! birthday present!) cell phone. She ignored Black Star’s knocking on her window, demanding that she come outside and bike down to the gas station with him and Soul for slushies and Reeces. 

x

It was Soul, of all people, that finally managed to pick the lock of her door and pad his way into her room. She glared daggers at him and he sunk back for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her anger. He seemed to realize that it wasn’t all aimed at him, however, so he shut the door behind him, didn’t call for her brother (bless his soul) and sank down to sit on the end of her bed with her.

"Go away," she crooned, hugging her pillow to her (still underdeveloped) chest and huffed. "I don’t want to talk to anyone."

“‘s fine,” he murmured, leaning against her wall and plopping his hands onto his legs. “Just didn’t think you should be alone on your birthday. Your brother’s worried.”

"So why are you here and not him?"

His eyes were very, very red, and very, very honest. “Because he thought you wanted to be alone. You told him to get lost at least three times today.”

"… That doesn’t answer my question."

Soul shrugged. “Sent me in as a last resort. My family’s fucked up too. Said I could offer some advice or… something, though I was pretty sure that when I walked in here you were going to stuff that pillow down my throat and roast me like a turkey.”

She swatted at his arm. “Language.”

"Sorry, mom."

She winced. His eyes widened. “ _Shit_ , sorry, Maka—”

With a shake of her head, she sunk back into her pillow and pressed her face against the cotton case. Maybe if she curled up enough, the world would vanish and she could pretend like it was just a bad dream. She was going to wake up soon, right? 

She laughed humorlessly. “My life is over. I hate him.”

Soul snorted. “Black Star’s planning on swapping his shampoo with some hair dye. Said he wants him to actually look like his dad. You in?”

His grin was contagious.


	2. Maybe It's Not My Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B*S is love, B*S is life.

As it turned out, Tsubaki’s date hadn’t gone so well. 

Black Star was as smug as expected (“ _I KNEW IT, no decent mortal takes a girl like **Tsubaki**  out mini golfing”_), but the girl didn’t seem too deterred by Maka’s brother’s enthusiasm. She merely pat his head, laughed politely (and sadly, maybe?) before changing the subject. Maka had been more than ready to dwell on it and offer her sympathy and advice, but Tsubaki shook her head and shrugged her pretty shoulders.

It occurred to Maka later that she wouldn’t of had any worthwhile advice to give, anyway. She was a few years younger than her best friend, and though she spent all of her time with boys, she had never been on a date. And the boys she spent time with were Black Star and Soul — one was her brother, and the other spent so much time over her house that he might as well of been related to her. Of course Tsubaki hadn’t wanted to hear what Maka had to say on the subject. She didn’t know the first thing about romance. 

She was still having a hard time looking her Papa in the face. There was no way she’d be able to have a full conversation on the inner workings of healthy relationships and attraction. Maka had just recently graduated into training bra territory (a feat that Black Star found both endlessly hilarious and disgusting, and a feat that Soul kept his nose strictly out of). 

No wonder Tsubaki didn’t want to talk boys with her. Maka was an everything virgin.

Which meant Maka had to do some research, and probably some studying. And at the age of thirteen, that meant she needed to either ask some questions, or get her flirt on. And Maka had no idea how to flirt.

Papa was out of the question. She would never trust his word again. She couldn’t ask him what a good kiss felt like and what made it a good kiss.

Which was how she found herself sitting between Black Star and Soul on the couch, playing Mario Party and chewing her lip raw. Her brother was oblivious to her concern, but she noticed Soul kept sending her questioning glances. 

"Are you that upset that I stole half your coins?" he asked finally, brow raised.

She sputtered. “No, don’t be stupid. If I was upset with somebody, it’d be Black Star for stealing two of my stars and landing on three Koopa Kid spaces. You’re fine, Soul.”

"I’m the biggest star and I deserve all of the stars," her brother chirped from her right, grinning ear to ear. 

She ignored him with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes. “No, I was just thinking about Tsubaki’s date. Do you think he kissed her? She wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

Black Star’s eyes bugged out. Soul shrugged. “Does it matter? She said she doesn’t wanna go out with him again. Maybe he’s a shitty kisser.”

” _Language_.”

"I’m a great kisser," Black Star insisted at once, expression curiously guarded. She turned to stare at him, only pausing to apologize quietly for elbowing Soul in the shoulder. "I don’t scare chicks off with sloppy kisses. Hah! What a noob. If he’s such a shitty kisser, he shouldn’t of bothered trying to go out with a girl like Tsubaki."

She chose to ignore his raving crush on their friend and knitted her brows together. “Who in the world have you kissed?”

"Kim. At Liz’s birthday party last year. Spin the bottle," he waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn’t know. You were reading on the porch like the nerdbaby that you are, pigtails. Wouldn’t know a good time if it came and bit you in the ass."

"Language! And HEY," she seethed, smacking him in the knee with her GameCube controller. "Lay off! It’s not wrong of me to not want to swap spit with the entirety of our class. Soul didn’t play either and you’re not giving him Hell for it!"

"Soul’s also a whining pissbaby."

"I’m right here," he grunted, head looming over Maka’s shoulder. Her face was curiously warm, almost as warm as the patter of his breath on the skin of her neck. She tensed.

"Yeah, and it doesn’t change the fact that I kissed Kim  _and_ Patty, and you two are still children. I’m a teenager,” Black Star bragged. “Teenagers kiss and shit.  _Tsubaki_ kisses and shit.”

"Not you, though," Maka huffed, shoving Soul back into his seat and pushing her back against the couch cushions. "She didn’t kiss you."

He sent her a scathing look. Soul snorted and resumed his turn.

x

Blair was not her mother.

Black Star and Maka sat at the kitchen table, both looking disturbed in their own way — Maka positively furious and murderous, and Black Star unsure where to look.

Because their new ‘mommy’ was buxom. And busty. And sexy. And every other word in the dictionary that made Maka rather want to beat her over the head with the very same dictionary. They didn’t bother asking why their Papa had chosen her to cheat — it was clear as day, considering the tight skirt and shirt(????) that she donned while she flipped fish in the frying pan.

Maka’s nose flared. 

Black Star was staring very pointedly at the table and no where else. He was a healthy teenage boy with healthy teenage urges, and this woman couldn’t of been older than 24. She was not shy about her body, and though Black Star tended to be gross and gawked at women, he wasn’t about to openly objectify his father’s slam piece. That, and Maka had beaten enough sense into him over the years to know better than to treat women as something to stare and holler at.

"This is ridiculous," she ground out to him.

He shook his head, horrified. “She keeps bending over, dudette. It’s not right. I do  _not_  want to bang your father’s booty call.”

"He’s your papa, not mine!" she hissed. "Why is she even here?"

It was then that Soul decided to stride in, because what else could possibly go wrong? The day was already turning out terrible, and the poor guy had no idea what he was walking into.

He took three steps into the kitchen, caught sight of Blair’s barely concealed ass leaning over the stove, and promptly choked on the apple he’d been eating. Black Star didn’t even have it in him to laugh. Maka merely sent him an icy stare as his nose began to gush blood.

Blair was  _not_ her mother. 

x

But she certainly tried to be.

"My mama already gave me  _ **the talk**_ ,” Maka insisted. “Can I please go outside? Black Star and Soul are going to leave without me.”

Blair had snatched her hand and set it in her lap, and was currently stroking the back of her palm in what Maka assumed was supposed to be a soothing manner, but she rather wanted to snatch her hand away and beat feet out of there. She might’ve, had she been Black Star, but she had manners, unfortunately, and had been raised to respect her elders.

"Oh, Blair’s sure," she cooed —  _why the third person?_  — and nodded her head. “But you’re growing up! Soon you’ll have to wear bras, and those boys are going to start getting older too, and there will be so many urges…”

One thing was for certain — Maka was positive Blair knew all about those urges. She couldn’t get the image of her papa sucking face with the woman out of her mind. It was revolting and upsetting.

"I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Can I—"

"Let Blair teach you how to put on a condom. Just in case! You need to be safe, Maka, because boys are very stupid sometimes and you’re such a smart, pretty girl. They will be all over you in a few years," she purred, eyes sparking like flint at once. "And if you don’t want them to, Blair can teach you where to kick them to inflict the most damage."

x

Soul was the first of them to get his license. It was probably for the best; the idea of Black Star on the road was nightmare inducing, and Maka was quite content with her mint-green bike with the cute basket on the front.

Soul, however, elected for something much more cool. A motorcycle. She had to restrain herself from chiming in and telling him how cliche being a leather jacket-wearing motorcycle-driving teenager was, because Soul was sensitive over how he was perceived and she liked him enough not to burst his bubble.

Black Star thought it was fantastic, but refused to ride in the bitch seat, so he got his license next. Papa bought him a truck and  _he pimped it out_  (his words, not hers — fuzzy dice hanging on the mirror and crudely-painted fire and stars on the side of the bed of the truck wasn’t what she considered cool).

It was no wonder why when they hit high school, it was Soul that had the girls hanging off of him. And it came as no surprise to either sibling that he had no idea how to deal with so much attention at once.

If there was one thing she knew for sure about her brother’s best friend, it was that her original assumption about him had been correct; Soul was very reserved. He was comfortable around Black Star and her, obviously, and had little problem being around them for long periods of time. But he was very much introverted, and it came as a direct contrast to someone as extroverted as Black Star (or even Maka herself — she might’ve been bookish, but she thrived in the company of others more often than not). 

Black Star had a decent following; he was MVP of the wrestling team and what Maka found annoying, girls who didn’t live with him apparently found amusing. Or charming. Or they were too busy staring at his biceps to really pay attention to the way his voice was cracking. Hah, puberty!

Soul, however, did not thrive in the attention. He always seemed genuinely uncomfortable when girls from the theater department asked to touch his hair or hitch a ride, but he usually handled it with a carefully calculated bored expression. He was fine around Maka, and she was fine with that; they’d been friends since they were kids. It would be weird for him to be as uncomfortable around her.

But a gaggle of girls looming near his bike after school? He tensed next to her.

"What’re they doing?" he grunted, shoulders folding into his normal slouch. She poked him in the rib and he jumped. "Wh—Hey!"

"They want to talk to you. One of them probably wants your number."

His brows furrowed. “But they don’t even know me.”

"Well, Soul, they have to get to know you somehow. They’re awfully pretty. Besides, girls eat up the hot bad boy thing you’ve got going for you."

She really wished she had ran that through her internal filter first. He pinked (adorably!) and stared at her. She stared back, eyes big and heart in her throat. Oh, crap.

"… Is that what you think?"

"I— You wear a leather jacket! You’re such a cliche, Soul," she hissed.

His eyes were still curiously unguarded when he slung an arm around her shoulder and chuffed. “I’ll give you a ride home. Maybe a cute girl on the back of my bike will ward them off.”

They didn’t discuss what they’d just toyed with, or the palpable tension that jolted between them when she linked her arms around his stomach and he pulled out of the school parking lot. Maybe it was for the better; the circumstances weren’t right, and Maka wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was much too busy with school and extra curriculars to have time for boys and dating, even if it was Soul.

 _Even if it was Soul_. Was she crazy? Black Star would have her head. Besides, she wasn’t his type; she remembered how he got every time Blair came in to offer them snacks clearly. 

When he dropped her off at her house, Black Star sprinted out and stole him away for the night — something about a big party and Tsubaki was going, so they needed to  _get a move on, hurry the fuck up, slowpoke!_ Maka was more than alright with not being invited, because she needed to go bury her face in her pillow and forget the way Soul had looked at her before they took off. 

x

Mother’s day was always a bad time for Maka.

"Here," Black Star said, plopping a drink into her trembling hands and sinking down to sit beside her on her floor. "Bottoms up, pigtails! I made it for you special. You should be honored."

Special indeed. Either he’d made her a very strong drink, or she had a very low alcohol tolerance, because before she knew it she was bawling openly and collapsing to burrow her head into his shoulder. 

It must not have been the outcome he expected, because he jumped a mile and squawked; he was good at humor and exuberance, but tenderness and tears had never been his strong suit. He wrapped an arm around her after a beat and tugged her into a bear hug. He was not gentle, but he probably knew that he didn’t have to be with her; she was not a broken bird, she was not a flower — she was just a girl who missed her mother.

"I don’t— she hasn’t called in months," she sobbed, effectively slobbering all over his hoody. "I don’t know what I did wrong!"

"Wasn’t you," he mumbled, patting at her back. "C’mon, I didn’t get you wasted so you could cry all over me. Let’s go set shit on fire. That always makes me feel better.

x

They were sitting on the roof when she dropped the bomb on him.

He stared at her, hair a mess and posture laxed. She probably looked just as exhausted; she was sprawled out beside him, barefoot and wearing an old pair of pink sweatpants with kittens printed all over. 

"I don’t remember my mother much," he said quietly, staring at the roof below him so intently that she was afraid he’d burn a hole and they’d collapse and land right into papa’s bed. She had sobered up some, but she was still much too tipsy to even consider climbing down without his help; maybe she shouldn’t of pushed the subject.

But drunken words were sober thoughts. “Do you miss her?”

"Can’t miss what I don’t remember, right?" he laughed, sounding so unlike himself and so much older that her chest ached. "I’unno. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got our gross old man and the sex kitten he keeps around sometimes. And I’ve got your nerdy ass to mother me enough for three moms, so I’m good."

She giggled. “Fuck you.”

He looked at her and positively beamed. “You’re swearing! It’s about fucking time! Ah, I knew my godliness would rub off on you eventually, pigtails! I feel like I’ve just watched you learn how to fly. Shit, can you fly? Jump off the roof. Spread your wings, you majestic fucking swan.”

"I want to be an angel. Angels fly," she whispered dreamily. "Do you think Soul likes angels?"

He snorted. “I don’t think he likes much of anything. What’s it to ya?”

She shook a hand at him and curled herself against him, effectively cuddling into his leg. His hand sifted through her hair and he chuffed, obviously not done with the conversation, but realizing that she was much too tired to continue coherency. 

His hand was still combing through her hair when she murmured “I know you like Tsubaki. She likes you too, you know. She talks about you all of the time. I’m jealous.”

She barely saw the smile curl along his lips. “Go the fuck to sleep, drunkard. I’m gonna hear it from her before I put any of my killer moves on her.” 

It was hard to argue when the fingers pushing through her hair were so convincing. She woke up the next day at noon, tucked into her bed and a dick drawn on her forehead in Sharpie. 


	3. Damned If I Do Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, for Soul.

Sleepovers at Black Star’s used to be a lot more fun, Soul realized, when he wasn’t so hyper aware of the girl studying a few rooms over. It was unreasonable — Maka had been there forever, a third entity, a kindred soul in the dealings of Black Star’s antics. She hadn’t done anything overly spectacular to call his attention to her. She still wore her hair in pigtails everyday. She still kicked his ass routinely at Jenga and did puzzles while Black Star tried to drag him out to parties.

It could’ve been because she was a constant. It could’ve been because she had total angel eyes and he wanted to bathe in her sunlight and soak in her vitality. It also could’ve been because she had kickass legs and he felt like a total pervert for noticing because  _ **hello**_ , that was his best friend’s sister that he was ogling, and that was fifty shades of Not Okay Ever.

She was supposed to be like his sister, too. And she had been for many years. Especially the younger years, where she’d become his back up when Black Star was off in his own class. They were paste buddies, Lego comrades and two time winners of the three-legged race in elementary school. 

It was supposed to be platonic.

It  _had_  to be platonic. Black Star would personally drive to his house, smash his motorcycle and hang him by his teeth off of the flagpole at school if he so much as looked at Maka the wrong way; he hadn’t hesitated to threaten poor Kilik when he’d asked Maka to homecoming Freshman year.

Sleepovers at Black Star’s were okay as long as Maka minded her distance, because he still remembered her compliment and the way she’d pinked afterward. He wanted to watch her pink all of the time, and he hated himself for it. She was beyond out of bounds, and pursuing her would be a foul. Black Star might’ve been irritating and obnoxious, but he was the best friend Soul had ever had, and he wasn’t about to throw it away for a pair of pretty green eyes that might not even feel the same way.

But lord, did she have pretty eyes.

Distracting eyes. Eyes he should not be staring into, because she was trying to pour herself a glass of juice and he was positively goggling at her. He squawked and stumbled over himself, effectively face planting onto the kitchen table.

"Oh, Soul!" she gasped, closing the distance between them and trying to conceal her laughter long enough to make sure that he was alright first. "Are you—?"

He groaned and nodded.  _Lord, end him. Finish him off. Put him out of his pathetic misery already._

A hand plopped onto his head and he nearly jumped out of his skin. She jolted too, nearly spilling her hard-earned juice on herself and squawked. They stared at one another, and he was counting the shades of green in her eyes when who else but _her brother_  and  _his best friend_  pranced in. 

"Yo!" he slung an arm around him and yanked him up. "Did pigtails trip ya?"

Her cheeks puffed. “I did not! He fell over himself.”

"My brochacho is way more coordinated than that. Keep telling yourself that, Maka."

"Choke on a dumdum, dumb dumb."

It definitely had to stay platonic.

x

"Just go over there and ask her to prom. It’s not hard."

Soul was a dirty hypocrite, and Black Star looked like he was ready to piss himself. Over a girl. Over Tsubaki, who was currently engaged in a conversation with the guy’s sister. 

If he wasn’t so irritated, he might’ve laughed, but he’d been trying to coax his best friend into marching over there and asking the girl he’d been stupid over for years to a dance, of all things. A dance that Soul wasn’t even going to, so it wasn’t even any of his business, technically!

But admitting such out loud would be treason, and he really, really wasn’t in the mood to get bitched at yet. 

"I know, but…" he squinted at her. "… It’s gotta be big. Tsubaki deserves a big show."

Soul felt himself blanch. “Please do not put on a big show. At least let me leave the immediate area before you bring out that damn kazoo again.”

"No way, not the kazoo! The harp. She’s a goddess in training. She deserves harps and flutes and all that shit. And _piano_.”

He knew where this was going, and he wanted out right the fuck now. He jerked his head and grunted, jaw set. There was no way in Hell Black Star was going to guilt him into playing the fucking piano while he professed his undying love for Tsubaki, a senior, in front of their entire class. In front of Maka, even, who he was most certainly not thinking about in a dress and with her hair all done up. 

The fucker got onto his knees. “Broseph. Please do your God a solid and help me serenade Tsubaki. I will owe you. I’ll get Maka to do your homework for weeks.”

"Maka would never agree to that. And even if she did, fuck no! I’m not playing the piano, Black Star."

x

Soul was a sucker for puppy eyes, and he really, really hated Black Star. He hated the way everyone kept staring at him like he had a third head. It was difficult to keep his mask of indifference up when even Maka seemed amused by the endeavor.

Okay, maybe not Maka; she seemed exhausted by her brother’s antics and Tsubaki’s enthusiastic acceptance. 

But she was sincere about his playing, and enthusiastic enough to gallop her way over to him and let him know that he was  _good, really good, Soul, why don’t you play more often?_

He was a sucker for puppy eyes.

x

He’d never tell her, but Soul had always been a bit jealous of Maka. Not because of her parents, because her dad was a philandering bastard most of the time and he’d never really liked her mother (too bossy and stern for his liking), but because of her brother. Because of Black Star.

Because Soul had brother problems. He had Wes problems. His older sibling didn’t live at home anymore and was a good deal older than him, and though he certainly cared for him to a certain degree, he was infuriatingly perfect and made Soul feel like he was worthless. And the worst part was he never even tried to, never dreamed of diminishing his baby brother’s worth; it just happened, because standing in Wes’ shadow was exhausting.

Black Star was noticeably imperfect. He talked too much. He was on the shorter side. He used too much hair gel (and that meant a lot, coming from Soul!) and liked to draw on Maka’s face when she was sleeping.

He also beat up the entire hockey team because they’d been sexist dickheads behind Maka’s back. Soul was lucky if Wes stood up to their parents for his sake, and Black Star was beating and breaking sticks and skates for her.

Which was why he always felt guilty for wanting to roll his eyes when she went on her tangents about how awful her brother was, or how annoying and loud he was and “He’s the entire reason I can’t get a prom date, Soul, because he just keeps scaring them all off! I’m not going to my junior prom alone!”

He had to restrain the urge to grin at that one. He may or may not have had a part in that. He may or may not have threatened Hiro. And Harvar. And Kid.

Under Black Star’s watch, of course. The two of them did it together. Black Star thought he was the most loyal subject in the world for helping protect his little sister’s ingenuity. He had no idea that he was completely selfish in trying to keep Maka single, because he didn’t want to go to prom, but he also didn’t want another guy taking her. It was awful, it was terrible, and part of him wanted to man the fuck up and ask her to go with him as friends (because Black Star was still on his ass about going, the little fuck) but was sure that he’d take it wrong if he took his sister as a date. Even a platonic date.

Because then they’d have to dance and shit. And he wasn’t sure how he’d handle Soul twirling his sister around and crushing his arm around her slender little waist.

Black Star was a lot of things — over protective, obnoxious, wore too much Axe and chewed with his mouth open — but he cared a lot about Maka, whether she realized it or not. He’d never say it to her face, but he’d let it slip to Soul on occasion that Maka was his ‘oldest and most loyal follower’.

Which, in Black Star speak, meant he thought she was awesome. And Soul had to agree.

x

"Alright, Evans, I have a preposition for you."

Soul jolted and dropped the tater tot off of his fork. It fell and tumbled to the cafeteria floor. He sent a particularly disgruntled glance to the brunette standing before him.

Jacqueline raised her brows. “I’ll be your prom date.”

"What."

She seemed mildly uncomfortable the more he scanned her. Her brow twitched, her hands caught at her hips and one leg bounced. He knew she wasn’t afraid of him, because even if he wasn’t particularly close to her, the two had bonded over having strict as fuck parents at Kim’s (messy) birthday party last year. What was she so anxious about?

"… Shit, you don’t have a thing for me, do you? Because I’m really not—"

"Soul, I’m gay."

 _Oh_. Well. That changed things. 

He took his foot out of his mouth and stabbed at another tater. “… Then why the Hell do you want to go to prom with me? Because last I checked, I do not have the parts you’re interested in.”

Sobering up from her (really rather blunt, Christ) confession, she sunk down and slid into the booth seat opposite him. She chewed her lip and glanced both ways before leaning in. He chomped on his tater tot. “Because Kim is going with Ox,” she explained slowly. “And my parents expect me to take a nice, respectable boy as a date.”

Kim taking Ox checked out — and answered quite a few questions he had about what went on at their slumber parties — but he had to snort at the last bit. Was she blind?

"Jackie, I don’t really think I fit that bill."

"Your last name does," she managed a clipped smile. He faltered. "I’m sorry. But it’s not like Black Star will get off your back until you ask someone, and we both know you’re not going to ask Maka anytime soon—"

"Why would I ask Maka? She’s got the sex appeal of a preschooler."

It was a weak excuse. He knew it was as soon as it came out of his mouth, and Jacqueline wasn’t buying it for a moment. His face felt hot as she shook her head and clicked her tongue. 

"Soul Evans, you and I both know that you are not that shallow. And I see the way you look at her. Black Star might have tunnel vision, but I don’t."

Maybe if he stabbed his taters hard enough, he’d shatter his tray and she’d go away. It was a conversation that he didn’t want to have with anyone yet — not Black Star, his best friend (who he’d never be able to tell anyways, because he’d tie him up like a pretzel and hang him out to dry), not Maka (who he also couldn’t tell, for obvious, butterflies-in-his-tummy reasons), and definitely not Jacqueline, whose eyes were frighteningly calculating.

She straightened her shoulders and sat back. “It’s strictly platonic. You only have to dance with me long enough for my mom to snap a picture of her  _perfect little heterosexual girl,_  and then you can sulk in the corner and gawk at Maka while she dances with Kilik.”

"What," he barked out.

"… You didn’t know?" she blinked at him. "Yeah, Kilik asked her to prom like three days ago. She said yes."

x

"It was either him or Kid, Black Star!" Maka screamed. "And I can take whoever I want to prom! It’s none of your business!"

She slammed her door in her brother’s face. Soul shook his head and grumbled to himself; he had his own opinions of Maka attending the dance with anyone  ~~(besides him)~~ , but cool guys didn’t get jealous. And if they did, they didn’t slam on the girl’s door and hoot and holler at her to  _OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, PIGTAILS, HE’S GOING TO DEFLOWER YOU AND DAMMIT YOU DON’T HAVE THE BOOBS FOR THAT, **READ A BOOK INSTEAD!**_

So uncool. She _most definitely_  had the boobs for that.

"IT’S JUST A FRIENDLY DATE. HE DIDN’T WANT TO GO ALONE, AND NEITHER DID I!"

"BUT HE’S A GUY, MAKA. WE’RE INHERENTLY STUPID AND WE WANT TO GROPE SOFT THINGS."

"WELL, GOOD THING I’M NOT  _SOFT!_ ”

_"YOUR FAT ASS IS!"_

Her door swung open and she promptly clocked him. Soul winced; if it had been him, he’d be on the floor and writhing, but Black Star was barely human and took the punch like a champ. His hand caught her wrist and he yelled her name. She yelled his name right back.

Soul decided that it was time to go. Neither sibling noticed him leave.

x

True to her word, Jacqueline disappeared after the first dance. That was fine. She was a decent girl, but they had nothing more to talk about, and she’d seemed glum the entire ride there. Being forced to hold a guy’s hand that she really wasn’t interested in must’ve been taxing on her.

He returned the sentiment. Dealing with his own parents had been bad enough tonight, but Jackie’s on top of that made it Hellish.

And he still had to watch Maka slow dance with Kilik. And she looked so nice, in a white, lacy dress that made her look like a bride or kind of like an angel, slender back exposed and green eyes ethereal. He felt like a bum for standing against the wall and staring at her while she swayed. The girl had no rhythm. He could at least laugh at that.

Black Star was off spinning Tsubaki around somewhere in the middle of the crowd. He’d lost sight of them when he excused himself to the punch bowl. 

And now he was staring at her like a loser. Kilik had definitely noticed; he bared his teeth at him and snarled. 

About an hour later, she found him looming around the punch bowl. She smiled at him and he reconsidered hating the world for about three seconds, but then remembered that she’d came with another guy and he wasn’t allowed to touch her because of her brother and the brocode and other bullshit.

Being a dude sucked. Being a dude and being really, really into his best friend’s sister really, really sucked.

"I feel bad for Tsubaki," she laughed, sipping at her drink. "She’s going to have such blisters from her shoes from all the dancing that she’s doing."

"And you won’t?"

She lifted the hem of her dress and wiggled her toes at him. “Bare foot. Ditched the heels as soon as we got in. Kilik was fine with it.”

He darkened. “And where is the lucky guy?”

"Dancing with Liz. She’s pretty."

Soul couldn’t stop himself from chuffing; Liz was pretty, but Maka was prettier. In his eyes, anyways. Especially tonight, with her eyes glowing and cheeks pink and blonde hair all done up in some elaborate braid. She looked surprisingly happy for someone whose date was dancing with someone else.

"What?" she bumped her shoulder against his. "She is!"

” _You’re_  pretty.”

He shouldn’t of said that. He should not have said that, but her eyes lit up and he was pretty sure that he wanted to kiss her, because she was pretty, but she was also kind and smart and every other sappy thing he’d thought about her the past two years. He was so far gone. Shit. 

It was dangerous territory that they were trudging in.

She smiled at him. “Then dance with me.”

"Sorry, I don’t dance."

Her fingers twirled around his tie and she gave a subtle yank. He wondered where she’d put her cup, because then she had both hands on him and she grinned widely. “Soooul, dance with me.”

"… As long as you leave your shoes off. I value my toes, thanks."

She dragged him onto the dance floor, slung her arms around his neck and he nearly choked when Black Star spun Tsubaki into his back.

Caught. 


	4. Time Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Star is too much fun to write.

"We need to get you a girlfriend."

Solid start. 

"Don’t really care."

Brooding pissbaby. If he wasn’t his brocules, he might’ve clobbered him upside the head, but Black Star was a gracious God and Tsubaki had been mentoring him in the art of patience. He was determined to help his bestest bro out of whatever headcase he’d caught, because surely, dancing with Maka and undressing her with his eyes was not something that was plausible.

She was his little sister, and Soul was his best friend. It was revolting to think about. It would be like watching their pet corgis mate — not at all as cute as one might hope. They were his followers, and that made them  _kindasortamaybe_ related by default. Frickle frackle was 110% illegal.

"Come onnnn! You’ve never had a handful of tits," he slumped down next to the white-haired lump he called an amigo and slung an arm around him. "Don’t knock it till you try it. Guaranteed pick me up, if you know what I mean."

His eyebrow waggling did not have the desired effect. Soul looked rather revolted and shoved him away. “Dude. Not cool.” 

"Don’t cry about it! I’m doing you a solid. Just tell me what you like and I can hook you up. I have connections, bromocule." 

"It’s not something I think about a lot," he grunted, still shoving at him. "Can we stop talking about this?"

"Are you into dicks? Which is cool, I still have connections."

Him being gay would be fantastic, actually. No chance of him ever being into his skinny but still definitely vagina-wielding baby sister, and it’d eliminate any turf wars over potential girlfriends later on. Win/win. 

"Not gay, Black Star. Just don’t think talking about girls like they’re sexual objects is okay."

Damn. Oh well.

"Just give me a hair color. Red? Brown? Blonde?"

Soul wore a good mask, but his eyes gave him away. There was a definite reaction to the last one. Dirty bastard. Black Star momentarily contemplated dying Maka’s hair red. 

And sending her to a convent. Or maybe investing in a chastity belt would be a better solution; Soul seeing her panties at all could also work, because his baby sister was the least sexy thing on the planet, with penguin-undies and a-cup bras. 

He could still fix this. Salvation would be had!

"… Hm. Liz is blonde. I could hook you two up—"

"I’m leaving," Soul announced at once, yanking himself onto his feet and shoving Black Star’s attempts of furthering the conversation away. "Bye."

"Dude! Fine, not Liz — Kid would have our head if I tried hooking you up with her — but there’s a ton of blondes at our school! Hot ones! Hot ones with tits and ass and—"

"GOODBYE, Black Star!"

x

When that failed, Black Star turned to his sister for help. Maka was smart — like otherworldly smart, smartest person he knew smart. Top of the class and student council president smart (read: completely and totally nerdy, and the only way she could get worse was if she still wore the sweater vests she did in middle school). If anyone knew what to do, it would be nerdbrain Maka Albarn, prissy little sister of the decade. 

Halfway through the conversation, however, and he realized his mistake: how was he going to talk to Maka about getting Soul to date someone else? How was he going to get her advice if she was also entertaining gross ideas about his best friend in less than modest terms?

Did Maka even possess a sex drive? He knew Soul did; bros shared everything, after all. But his sister was gloriously undersexed, and while that had been fun to tease her about a week ago it was now vital to keep intact. 

"… Who, exactly, are we talking about here?" 

She poked her head up from her book and he thought on his feet. “Uh. Kid.”

"… Kid is having trouble finding a ‘bombshell blonde to ease all of his angsty whiny baby bullshit’," she stared at him. "Doesn’t he live with Liz and Patty?"

"But they’re like his sisters! That’s gross!"

"They’re not  _actually_  related, Black Star.”

"That would be like saying you wanted to bang me. Adopted, remember? I don’t actually share your genes — thank fuck, by the way."

She choked. “Ew! God, no, never. I have standards. And the only thing wrong with my genes is my papa. Mama is fine.”

Her mother was absolutely not fine, and he was terrified at once that maybe she did get more from their dad than they realized. Was she a screaming pervert too? Did she want to bed half of the school? Did she want to stuff her baby hand down Soul’s diaper and play with his yahoo?

BARF.

"So… say, hypothetically, that there was a guy that you spent a lot of time with when you were growing up. Would you still fuck him?"

Her book shut with a slam. “Black Star, I really don’t want to talk about this. I’ve never even kissed a boy. I don’t think I can really consider the odds of me laying with anyone, alright?”

It was reassuring, but not enough. He needed solid proof, evidence that he wouldn’t find his little sister with his best friend’s cock in her mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to be held responsible for his actions if he stumbled upon such a horrifying sight. Would he puke on them? Would he punch both of their lights out? Would he stuff them into the bed of his truck and take them to get hearty helpings of Jesus? He just didn’t know!

"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU," he squawked, tossing her pillow at her and scrambling out of her room, ignoring her yelps and surprised gasps.

x

If he stared hard enough, maybe they’d move away from one another. 

It was disgusting. How had he never noticed how abnormally close they were? Body language was legit! And Maka had her entire being turned toward Soul, and even though he was practically comatose and snoozing on his desk, there was still a lazy smile on his face.

His baby sister brushed her fingers through his best friend’s hair, and Black Star flipped his desk right over. Tsubaki gasped. Stein gave him that same weird ass stare that made him want to recount his toes. Soul jerked awake. Maka turned in her seat and began to scold him.

No way. NO fucking way.

x

Yes fucking way.

He had just walked in on the most deplorable romp session in the history of forever. He needed to wash his eyes out with bleach, because yes, that was indeed Soul’s hand up Maka’s skirt and yes, that was his sister’s mouth all over his best friend’s. 

"HEY. _HEEEEEY_. NO,” he screeched. “NO!! CUT THAT SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW.”

They fell apart at once, red faced and sweaty  _( **EW!!!** )_.

Maka collected herself first, smoothing her skirt down and pressing her legs together in a way that made Black Star want to vomit. He wasn’t sure which one of them he wanted to throttle more — Soul, for laying his hands all over Black Star’s baby sister, or Maka, for pulling a fast one over him and trying to steal Soul all for herself. He was his best friend, dammit, not her boy toy!

Her eyes were livid. “Get out! I’m — we’re a little busy!”

"NO SHIT. This is gross. You are both super gross," his hands were shaking and he stumbled over to them. Soul jumped back and Maka folded her arms over her chest. 

Fuck, was that her bra on the floor? How the hell did she get that off without removing her shirt? 

She stood herself up and got right in his face, nose-to-nose. “Get out of my room, Black Star. I can kiss whoever I want.”

"THAT was not kissing. That was a mating display with my best friend. THAT is mutiny. He is my brochacho and you belong in diapers. Fuuuuck, what the hell?" he spluttered. "What if you two hurt each other? How the hell do you think I’ll feel being in between that shit?"

"It’s none of your business who I like!" she shrieked. Crap, she had a book — no, it didn’t matter! He had to protect her virtue and Soul’s stupid sensitive little feelings from being crushed simultaneously. Fucking morons.

He tore the book from her and promptly flipped her beanbag chair. “Have you two even gone on a date yet!? Was that your first kiss?”

"You’ve slept with plenty of girls who you didn’t even know!"

"I WAS DRUNK. You’re— you’re supposed to be the smart one!" he squawked. "SOUL. Soul, get up. We’re leaving and then I’m going to beat some sense into you, you dirty little traitor. I thought you could be trusted!"

Black Star knew that crab walk anywhere. Motherfucker had a boner. Traitor didn’t even begin to cover it anymore. 

"You don’t have to go  _anywhere_ ,” Maka insisted, and she gave Soul a  _look._ No little sister should ever know that look. What looked disgusting to Black Star must’ve looked dick melting to Soul, because he froze and actually looked like he was contemplating whatever Shakespeare-reading, training-bra wearing Maka was offering him.

He whacked him upside the head. “Do not. Let’s go, pleeb! We have a lot to talk about.”

When Soul didn’t budge, he grabbed him by his arm and forcefully yanked him out of Maka’s room. He squawked something out to her — an apology? — and she huffed out a response.

x

He wasn’t against their mutual happiness. Really, he wasn’t. He wanted his best friend to find a nice girl. He wanted his little sister to find a guy that wouldn’t spew sexist bullshit at her and make her feel bad about herself. If he were thinking more clearly, he might’ve approved of the relationship.

Relationship. Was it even a relationship? He’d caught them pawing at each other once, and yeah, there had definitely been some tongue action going on. It was more than enough to freak him out, but sex didn’t always mean they had feelings for each other. Maybe Maka was just trying to lose her nerdy purity and get it over with, and maybe Soul really was an asshole and would do anything to get his dick wet.

But then he kept catching him staring at her. Puppy dog stares. Warm stares. It freaked him the fuck out. And Maka was guilty too; her eyes followed him whenever he walked into a room.

Keeping them apart was impossible. Maka lived right down the hall from him and Soul was still his brofessional bestie, so there was bound to be interaction between the two of them. Wouldn’t shit get awkward between them after going at it like rabbits?

He’d caught them before penetration. Thank fuck. But Soul’s hands still had gotten introduced to Maka’s panties.

He was definitely going to be sick. 

x

He was going to set Soul up with the whole cheer squad if it kept him away from Maka. Every goddamn blonde flier. If he liked tiny blondes, then he’d love tiny blondes with actual shape to them. He could get laid as often as he wanted as long as he didn’t so much as look at Maka the wrong way.

It was only fair to do the same for Maka. He knew jocks. A lot of jocks, who were all better at conversation and talking about feelings (and everything else) than Soul. It was a win/win situation, really, and he was really fucking proud of himself for coming up with such a fool proof plan. Soul would get his (actually hot) blonde, Maka would get someone to talk to who wouldn’t stuff his hand up her revolting skirt, and Black Star would be able to keep both his sister and his best friend. He wouldn’t have to chose between them.

He’d even scored a double date with Soul and that easy cheerleader. Night made. He couldn’t keep himself from grinning. Tsubaki had definitely noticed as she sipped at her tea.

Their waiter was coming back with Soul in tow, which meant that his biffle made it and actually went through with the date. He grinned.

He stopped grinning when Maka slid into the booth with him. 

"… … Where is that cheerleader I set you up with?" he growled. 

Soul shrugged.  _That bastard._  

Maka furrowed her brows. “Cheerleader? I thought we were all hanging out? I brought madlibs.”

” _Fuck,_  the last time we did one of those I nearly pissed myself.”

"You have such a dirty mouth," she scolded faintly. "Give me a sip of your drink. I got lemonade."

Soul grumbled something about  _drinking your own damn beverage, woman,_ and she rolled her eyes, leaned over and sipped Pepsi delicately through a straw. Black Star watched in barely concealed horror as Soul stared at her mouth.

That was it. The table was being flipped, and Tsubaki could gasp all she wanted, but the punch he landed on Soul’s jaw was  _well_  deserved. 


	5. Sick Little Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was written by the lovely rokkasen. She's a goddess. Worship her with me.

This triple date was, for the most part, a shit show of epic proportions. **  
**

Why he had agreed to go on a date with his freshly ex girlfriend who he was still madly in love with and her stupid brother (and his best friend) who was the reason for the break up in the first place, Soul didn’t even know.

Black*Star had screamed that this was a  _brotatorship_ NOT a  _brorocracy_ and Soul needed to get his shit together and stop trying to “get it in” with his little sister. It was a no win situation where someone would inevitably get hurt but Soul didn’t want to come between the siblings. He did the kind thing, the noble thing, and told Maka that they should just remain good friends.

Maka hadn’t taken it well. She didn’t cry or scream or give him a concussion with a book. No, Maka had a quiet sort of rage that shook Soul to the core.  _I understand_ , was all that she said.

Soul was a dead man walking and they both knew it.

She went through a parade of boys with a vengeance. Every day of the week was another athlete, another date, much to Soul and Black*Star’s horror. Skirts were getting shorter. Actions were getting bolder. There was hand holding and giggling and right now it was literally the worst kind of torture to have to pretend to be interested in another girl while he watched the girl he really wanted flirt with a guy— not him— three inches away. **  
**

“Maka, I love your dress,” Tsubaki, the only sane person at the table, said.

“Thank you, Tsubaki!” Maka trilled.

The scrap of floaty material that Maka called a dress was giving Soul high blood pressure. Black*Star looked close to stroking out right there in the diner but he knew that he reaped what had he sewn and even his “Godly” status could not save him now.

“Tsubaki, could you tell Maka to pass the ketchup?” Soul asked, half because Maka wouldn’t look at him but mostly because he was being a complete brat. “That is, if she can pull her attention away from Jock-y McTestosterone over there for one second.”

“Tsubaki, could you please tell Soul to grow up and also brush his hair because he looks like a hobo?” Maka replied coolly.

“Tsubaki, could you tell Maka that she doesn’t have the tits to fill out that dress?” Oh good, he had reverted back to twelve year old Soul who could only show his affection by insulting Maka.

Her eyes narrowed. Black*Star excused himself to “take an hour long piss and Tsubaki, come get him when dinner was out”. Soul thought his “brotato chip” was the biggest traitor of all. “Tsubaki, could you please tell Soul that his jealousy is not very cute?”

“Tsubaki, could you—”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Tsubaki said tersely. “Perhaps Soul and Maka, you two should excuse yourselves and talk about whatever is bothering you?”

Maka folded her arms over her chest petulantly. “Why should I—”

“Good idea,” Soul grabbed Maka and dragged her to the parking lot outside. She elbowed him in the side,  _hard_ , but Soul didn’t let up until they were alone. “We should talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said. “You made your choice now you have to live with it.”

“Come on, don’t act like this was an easy thing,” Soul ran his hand through his hair. Did he really look like a hobo? Uncool.

“What do you want from me?” Maka was finally losing her cool. If Soul made it out of this without a hospital visit, it would be a miracle. “You told me you just wanted to be friends. So we’re being friends! You’re just going to have to deal with the fact that I’m going to date other people.” She narrowed her eyes again and Soul felt his penis retreat into his body in pure, unadulterated fear. “Don’t even pretend that you’re not loving all of the attention you’re getting from  _your_ new cheerleader girlfriend.”

He snorted. “And you’re calling  _me_ jealous?”

“Shut up!”

“And what’s with you looking all hot for this stupid date?”

Maka opened her mouth and then closed it, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult. “I said shut up, Soul!”

“Make me.”

—

When Black*Star came back to find Soul and Maka missing, he was worried. It was possible that his little sister had snapped and finally murdered Soul and the blood would be on Black*Star’s hands. He knew what he had to do, even if it killed him to do it. He was their God of Love, their Cupid, the one who wielded the mighty love arrow. It was time to make things right.

He rounded the corner to the parking lot with Tsubaki in tow, prepared to bestow benevolence unto his followers and allow them to date. With rules, of course, like no playing “hide the sausage” because ew.

Black*Star watched in horror as Soul and Maka made out in the parking lot behind the diner. His best friend had his sister pressed up against a brick wall and Black*Star thought he was going to blow chunks right then and there. He started to stomp towards them to tell them to cut that nasty shit out when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I think we should leave them alone,” Tsubaki said sweetly.

“But—”

“I  _said_ ,” Tsubaki repeated and Black*Star knew this was not a suggestion so much as a command, “let’s leave them alone.”

“… yes’m.”


	6. Tonight's Like A Right Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maka tries so hard.

It wasn’t until she turned seventeen that her brother finally hopped off his high horse and really accessed the situation. She suffered through half of a year of blind dates orchestrated by Black Star, of all people. She spent the same half of a year being rescued from said dates by a stony-faced Soul, followed up by ice cream “dates” (secretive, because according to their brother, they weren’t allowed to be alone together) where he’d steal her cherry and she’d eat all the whipped cream.

It was a frustrating six months. 

Black Star had awful taste in men. If she had to sit down and suffer through another sexist, offensive monologue about how attractive she’d be if she let her hair down and maybe bought a push up bra, she might’ve snapped. Her glares had sobered them down, but it was only Soul lumbering over and grunting out some decidedly not PG threats that shut them up.

She’d scolded him, of course. She didn’t need a man to protect her. She didn’t need anyone to scare her bullies away — she took martial arts. She was the MVP of the lacrosse team. 

Soul was protective, though, and had insisted that men were jackasses and clearly didn’t respect her enough to take “no” as an answer. 

And then Soul had done the “noble” thing and “broken up” with her — which meant war, because he didn’t need to pick between her and her brother (it was  _ridiculous_!) and Black Star needed to get over himself. But Soul wasn’t confrontational, and sure, maybe he’d only been trying to keep his best friend from castrating him, but Maka was no coward.

She serial dated. She wore shorter skirts. She wore backless shirts and what was a bra? Everyone told her she didn’t need a bra, so what was the point? She ditched them.  

Both her brother  _and_  Soul seemed disgruntled. Black Star looked like he wanted to burn her at the stake (and maybe lock her inside her bedroom for the next ten years). Soul looked torn between tearing a jock’s arm off and ripping his own arm off. 

It got her point across. 

One excruciatingly awkward triple date and an argument in the parking lot later, and Maka had found herself crushed between the brick of the restaurant and Soul. He might not have been the greatest with words, but what he lacked in articulation he exceeded with actions, and his mouth (and  _tongue_ , especially) were fluent in letting her know how he _really_ felt about her.

x

"Sit down, pleebs. Your god needs to lay down the law."

Soul bumped her shoulder. She smiled at him. Black Star cleared his throat.

"That’s the shit I’m talking about—"

"You haven’t even said anything yet!" Maka huffed.

"No shit! Ugh, just — this is really weird for me. You’re my favorite minions. I’ve known pigtails since she had braces—" Maka made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and her brother smiled wickedly; Soul raised a brow. "— and Soul, broski, you’re my best broseph in the history of brodom. But your God is gracious, and he understands that you two mortals have the hots for one another."

Soul didn’t say anything. He stared at him, expression blank but eyes betraying him. He definitely wanted to speak up but didn’t want to push the envelope.

Fortunately for him, she had no problem sassing her brother. “Please don’t call it that. We’re not going to spend all of our time making out, Black Star—”

"Damn right you’re not!" he grunted. "Look, I get it — you two have sappy gushy gross feelings towards one another and you wanna bang and make pigtailed-shark-toothed mini mes, whatever,  _ew_. Just don’t suck face in front of me. And keep your hands to yourself. I still want to wash my brain out from the last time I caught you two in the act.”

Maka hued. That was the one — and only — time she’d ever let a boy slide his hand up her skirt. It hadn’t been intentional; the two of them hadn’t even been together yet, hadn’t discussed feelings or intentions. 

They’d been studying in her room, Soul’s hand brushed over hers as she collected her text book, and then tension between them had finally broke. Soul’s hands had been safely squared on her shoulders when, in a sudden fit of boldness, she’d stripped her bra off from under her shirt, flung it across the room and set his hand on her knee.

He hadn’t done any more than stroke her inner thigh when Black Star had burst in.

"Sorry," Soul mumbled. His face was adorably pink. She wanted to pinch his cheeks but restrained herself. 

"You should be. That’s my little sister you were groping," he squinted. "But whatever. Cupid shot you in the ass. He has lousy aim. Just— don’t you ever hurt her. Bros before hoes, but my sister ain’t no hoe. She’s nerdy and annoying but she’s my family. I  _will_  break your face.”

A heat bloomed in her chest. It was probably one of the nicest things he’d ever said about her. The surge of affection for her bother of a brother was surprising. 

"Same goes for you, pigtails. He’s my top tier bro. I do not want to be in between your dating drama bullshit. Don’t ignore him when you get all pissy. But don’t you dare put out, I don’t want to be an uncle until you’re about thirty, married, and I’m king of my castle."

She wasn’t about to make any promises about the state of her virginity and keeping it intact (she remembered Soul’s fingers on her thigh vividly, and she had been for many a night while trying to reenact it _herself)_ , but she put on her most sincere smile and nodded. “Can we get a dog before I give birth? When can I factor in pets, professor?”

"After college. You best get a corgi. You have a legacy to uphold, Albarn."

x

She circled the date on her calender. May 16th. They were going to lose their virginity.

Black Star would be away at a game with Kilik and Papa wouldn’t be home (of course — out on a date (ew) with Blair), which meant she had the house to herself. No interruptions, no brothers breaking in or gross papas sobbing at her bedside. It was going to happen. She was going to spend the night with Soul. With her boyfriend(!!), who she cared about very much and really rather wanted to see naked.

x

She had the worst luck in the world.

She did not spend the night with Soul on the 16th. 

Not in the way she had anticipated, anyway; Black Star had come home early, kicked down the door as Soul was slipping his shirt off, and demanded that the both of them come for a ride with him. And it wasn’t like they could say no, so Soul redressed, Maka slipped on her boots and they both sat in the back of the truck, horribly aroused and uncomfortable, because they couldn’t touch each other and Kilik and Black Star were singing along to Nicki Minaj.

They didn’t have sex for days after, either. The timing was never right, and they never found themselves alone. Maka was about ready to lose it in a closet with him at Kim’s birthday party, but he’d sat her down, took a deep breath and shook his head. 

_No, Maka. You circled it on your calender. It means something to you. We’re not going to do it in a closet. You deserve a nicer first time than that._

She loved him — like really, really loved him — but she also hated him. He was too cute and too sweet to be real. He’d been turned on (she’d felt his boner and watched his adam’s apple bob when she pressed a kiss to his neck) but still had enough sense to cut things off before she got her way.

It was probably for the best anyway. Sure, Soul kept a condom on him at all times, but she wasn’t sure how easy it’d be to slide it on in a closet. And Jacqueline, they found out later, had known where they were the entire time. Their fumbling haste to escape the crowd hadn’t been as secretive as they thought.

Busted.

x

It was a week before Tsubaki’s graduation that it finally happened.

They were hanging out and cuddling — Soul still in his jeans and orange shirt riding up enough for her to catch glances of his boxers and happy trail, and her in work out short, knee high fuzzy socks and one of his old band tees. She was reading and he had been watching TV, lazily drawing shapes and words in the skin of her arm. His fingers were warm against her flesh, and his cheek was speckled with scruff and brushed against her temple.

She texted Liz frantically. Liz texted back encouragingly —  _stop texting me and get in there, girl!_

Maka stripped a sock down her calve enticingly. Or what she thought was enticing anyway. Soul didn’t spare her an extra glance. 

"Warm?" he murmured. "Sorry. I can back off."

No. No, she didn’t want him to back off. She wanted him on top of her and mumbling dirty things, maybe, if he liked. She wanted his tongue to be the one draw hearts on her skin, not his finger.

She stripped off the other sock and flung it off the bed. She draped her legs over his. His jeans were rough and his socked foot bumped against hers playfully. He was still trying to cuddle and she was trying to seduce him. Did she possess a sexy bone in her body? Did she really resemble a prepubescent boy that much?

Frustrated, she squirmed and pressed her chest against him. He shuffled and brushed his fingers through her hair. His eyes never left the screen.

She wanted to cry. Was he ignoring her on purpose, or was she really that unappealing? He’d been into her at the party. He’d eyed her at prom. And on May 16th, she’d gotten him to touch her boob. 

Over the bra, but it still counted. It was a big step. It was important. And he was totally ignoring her boobs now. Was he made of steel? She might not’ve been totally bodacious like the cheerleaders he’d been set up on dates with, but she was a mildly attractive girl. She wore a bra! She had nice legs! He’d told her so!

"Soul," she breathed, pressing her mouth against his throat. "Soul."

"Hm?"

"Soul, I took off my socks. Look at me."

He craned his neck around to stare at her. His eyes glowed in the dim light of her room. He squinted at her knees. “Uh. Yep. No socks. Am I laying on you or somethin’?”

"Soul, I took off my socks _for you_.” 

"… But they’re your favorite pair?"

She rolled onto her stomach and screamed into her pillow. It was hopeless. They were going to date forever and never get below the belt because she was the least sexy thing on the planet. She was the worst. Damn her boobs. Damn her socks for being so fuzzy and fantastic. Damn Soul for not ravaging her like a wild beast.

He brushed his hand over his shoulder, startled. “M—Maka? Uh? What’s up??”

"I’m going to die a virgin!" she bawled.

A sound escaped the back of his throat and he shuffled next to her. His hand fidgeted and his thumb rubbed along the side of her shoulder blade. “Come again?”

"I was trying to _seduce you_!” she huffed. “But I’m not sexy and Liz was no help at all!” 

He forced out a laugh. She peeked up from her pillow and oh, he was pink, very pink, but his eyes were eating her alive. His thumb brushed along the back of her collar, the tip of his finger smoothing over her skin. “Yeah, uh… no. You’re hot.”

"But you? You didn’t even look at me? And you kept squirming away! My boobs were on your arm!"

He cleared his throat. “Is there a polite way to admit that I have a boner and that my girlfriend is hot enough to get me hard just by taking off her stupid socks?”

She watched him swallow slowly.

And because she was curious and she couldn’t sate her insecurities just with his word alone (she could, actually, but she wanted to check for herself), she slid her hand over and pressed it against the crotch of his jeans. He forced his breath through his nose. She rubbed experimentally.

Maka was on her back in a moment, and she got exactly what she wanted; his tee was pulled over her head and his tongue was marvelous. 


	7. Nose Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the out of order begins now! Takes place sometime before Soul and Maka get together.

He realized he had a thing for her when they were fourteen. 

Maybe thirteen.

It might’ve been when she finally broke down and cried on his shoulder after a particularly stressful phone call with her mother while Black Star sang karaoke (badly) at Tsubaki’s house. It could’ve been when she braided his hair and introduced him to the magic of headbands and what they could do for his face.

It could’ve been anything. He’d spent enough time around her. It was probably a little desperate and pathetic, considering she was the only girl he spoke to on a daily basis. And Maka was moderately well liked and popular, so he couldn’t of been the only guy who thought she was attractive; she was a late bloomer (her brother would never let her forget) but pretty, very pretty, with intense green eyes and such pleasing coloring all around. He might of had a thing for blondes. Tiny blondes. 

Tiny blondes with big green eyes, and there was _no way in Hell_ he was the only one who thought that.

But he was definitely the only guy who got to see her in her Harry Potter onesie and chomping Cap’N Crunch at three AM on the couch. Beside Black Star, of course, but he was her brother and he chose not to count that. She trusted him, he realized, and it brought a humming heat to his chest that he was afraid to name.

And that was how he found himself in the possession of a gift for one Maka Albarn, nerd extraordinaire. If only he could work up the balls to hand it to her.

It was just a book. He wasn’t creative enough to get her anything special (or maybe he was too scared shitless of Black Star’s reaction to him handing his sister anything on Valentine’s day — mutiny would not be well received, he presumed) but he’d gotten her chocolates, too, so that had to make up for something. A book and sweets. He didn’t have the guts to get her any flowers.

He also didn’t have the guts to put on a big show of affection for her. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool in front of her, and if he drew too much attention to it, one blue-haired loud mouth would be over to whoop his ass in five seconds flat.

The book flopped into her lap with an unceremonious thump. The chocolates followed soon after, tucked into a little bag with a ribbon.  _How cute_. He was the lamest guy around. So goddamn lame.

And her eyes were very green. She blinked at him. “… Is this…?”

"Heard your brother giving you shit about not getting anything for Valentine’s Day," he couldn’t meet her eyes. He couldn’t let her see him blush, Christ. "So… here."

The crinkling of the bag was audible. And then her little gasp, followed shortly by “ _Soul_.” 

"I didn’t sign it or anything, so you can brag about it to him if you want. Doesn’t really matter, I’unno, just didn’t think it was fair that he got candy from half of the softball team and you got squat."

"… Soul?"

 _Do not blush do not blush do not blush._ He raised his eyes and was nearly blinded by the sheer sunniness of her expression. Her smile was radiant, eyes bright. 

"… Uh. Yeah, Maka?"

She was on her feet and brushing her lips against his cheek. Not blushing was officially unreasonable; he was approaching sunburn status. “ _Thank you_ ,” she murmured, voice tender and fingers lingering on his jaw. “You’re sweet.”

He struggled to find his voice. How did his tongue work again? “… Yeah. Uh. No… problem.” 


	8. Fall So In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original drabble that inspired it all.

Late night Mario Party games were always intense, and Black Star was always louder than he needed to be. 

"NO," he screamed, mashing on the c-stick harder and harder, as if it would will Yoshi to run faster. Soul watched with barely-contained amusement as the mini game came to an end and his friend collapsed to his feet, crooning about "STUPID CHEATING AI" and "A GOD LIKE HIM SHOULD NOT BE BESTED BY  _ **ANYTHING SHAPED LIKE A DICK**_ ”.

It was a good thing Black Star’s dad was out on a business trip, because there was no way anyone could sleep through his hollering. Or Soul’s laughter, because he couldn’t help it anymore and yes, Black Star had been bested by a small mushroom man.

"This game is bullshit!" he scoffed. "That duel was stupid! I bet that little fucker will take my star. I’M THE BIGGEST STAR IN THIS GAME."

"So big that you’re in last place?"

"I’M JUST WARMING UP FOR THE BIG FINALE!"

The door crashed open with a great scream, followed by: “GUYS. It’s THREE AM. Some of us are trying to  _SLEEP_ ,” and then the thundering of footsteps too heavy for anyone of her stature.

Black Star squawked, screamed for her to get out of his room, and Soul tried not to stare at his best friend’s sister for too long. She was impossibly pretty with her hair down and wearing an over sized t-shirt and sweats, too pretty for anyone as exhausted and angry as she was.

"Sorry, Maka," Soul offered. "He lost his star to Toad."

"It’s not my fault he’s awful at the game!" she huffed, arms crossed over her chest and eyes sparking.

"I’m the BEST. I’ll show you. Pigtails, sit down. Prepare to meet the wrath of a God."

If she was anyone else’s sister, she might’ve lost the tug of war that was occurring with her right arm, but she was Maka Albarn, and Black Star was her adopted brother — she snatched her limb right back and snarled. Soul sighed. Black Star grabbed at her shirt and clucked at her.

He yanked, and Maka was sent tumbling backwards. She tripped over her bunny slippers and her face met Soul’s lap. He grunted, she screamed, and Black Star laughed long enough, just until he realized that he’d just inadvertently stuffed his sister’s face into his best friend’s crotch, and then he was screaming about mutiny, about the bro-code and  _dude, that’s my sister, you sicko, how could you even do anything like that?_

Soul’s face was red enough to rival sunburn and Maka sprung up, cheeks ablaze and she sputtered out apologies. His head shook, jaw limp and pants uncomfortable. What was he supposed to say? What was even appropriate? He wanted to sink back into the couch and disappear, but Black Star was still spewing out threats.

She spun around and bashed her fist into Black Star’s mane of too-bright blue, and then it was World War Siblings with Soul as the unwitting referee. Again. 


	9. Haven't Had Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maka's corgi, Stumpy, is the real MVP of the AU.

The Break Up of Senior Year was ridiculous.

If there’s one thing a big brother never wants to walk into, it’s their little sister wailing and sobbing into the fur of the family dog.

And that was exactly what Black Star was treated to one Saturday morning. He was mildly hungover and his pants might’ve been on backwards as he stumbled down the hall and towards the kitchen. He only made it a quarter of the way there before he was distracted by the sound of sniffling. Feminine sniffling — he could excuse it if it was coming from his father’s room, but the pathetic mewling was coming from Maka’s, and big brother instincts kicked into overdrive.

Knocking was for people who waited, and if she was hurt, he didn’t want to waste time on trivialities like  _manners_. He kicked the door in, stomped over and openly gawked at the sight of Maka bawling into their pet corgi’s back. The dog’s tail whumped quietly against her blankets, head curled in, nuzzling his nose against her dutifully.

He fidgeted; was it about her mother again? Because if it was about her mother again, he’d go make her another drink. His headache was only minor, and crying Makas tended to freak him the fuck out. She was too annoying and kickass to cry openly. She looked like a girl when she cried, and not like his sister, the one who nagged him to do his homework and whacked him over the head with her textbooks when he tugged on her pigtails and asked her to text Patty for him.

“Uh,” he bumbled.

She glanced up at him and her lip quivered.  He squawked.

Her hand slid and rubbed along the dog’s back. His ears slid back as he snuggled his face against her stomach. “Go away, Black Star.”

He’d really, really like to, but he had Big Brother Duties and it didn’t matter if she was seventeen or thirteen, he still needed to check up on her. She might’ve been his sis but she was still a squishy mortal with squishy feelings and not everyone was as strong and great as he was, so he slumped down onto the bed beside her, gave their dog a good rub under the ears and squinted at Maka. “Spill.”

Her eyes were still decidedly watery. “… It’s not important—”

“You’re crying. You only ever cry on Mother’s Day, and usually you leave the comforting to Soul nowadays. Fuck, is it Mother’s Day? Did I sleep for that long?”

Her shoulders bunched curiously at ‘Soul’. He squinted harder. She pressed a kiss to their dog’s furry little head and sniffled. “… No, it’s not Mama.”

“Do you want me to call Soul? If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be here ASAP. I’ll break his nose if he slacks.”

Her expression darkened. “Don’t you dare.”

His sister was supposed to go moon eyed over the prospect of her boyfriend (ew)/his best friend coming over to offer hugs and probably other things that would make Black Star want to vomit all over Maka’s floor but she didn’t; suspicious, he flicked her forehead and she squawked at him. She was still Maka alright, because she still smacked him right back and huffed and pouted that same pout she’d had since she was five.

She looked incredibly childish and small when she cried. She looked thirteen again, on the eve of her mother’s departure, all damp eyed and  _sad_. It was resonatingly haunting and he decided he was being much too deep for eight AM on a Saturday morning while hungover. He shook his head.

“You’re mad at Soul,” he decided at once. Maka winced and confirmed his suspicions. “Didn’t I say that fighting wasn’t allowed? I’m calling him. You two are talking this out so I don’t have to suplex the both of you.”

Maka slapped the phone right out of his hands with a sharp yelp and a “NO!”. His hand stung only for a moment before he openly gaped at his brat of a sister — his brat of a sister who was crying again, lips twitching mournfully and their dog crawled his way into her lap.

“… Damn,” he grumbled. “You’re really pissed at Soul.”

“We broke up!” she snapped, green eyes spitfire and watery and his expression darkened. “We broke up and I do NOT want to talk to him right now. Or ever again.”

There was a decidedly dangerous heat looming in his arms. He needed to punch some things. A lot of things. Damn sister and damn traitorous best friend — hadn’t he said it was going to happen? Was giving him the okay to date a mistake all along? He’d been rightfully worried, then! Why didn’t his minions ever listen to him? Everything was going to be a bigger mess because Maka didn’t want to see Soul, and Soul either fucked up majorly and deserved a swift punch to the throat or he also didn’t want to see Maka, and that would make hanging out damn near impossible because Black Star was caught right in between all the fire.

Idiots couldn’t do anything right. They needed him now more than ever.

He wasn’t paid enough to help his little sister deal with her love life. He deserved about two months of her doing his homework.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. “A’ight. What bullshit made you two break up and which one of you two do I need to punch?”

She huffed, lips pressing together primly and held her chin in the air. If she was trying to act normal, she was failing spectacularly; Maka had never been a little princess. She’d always been more of a knight than a princess, and the little pride show wasn’t working. He raised his brow at her. She melted and sank back against their corgi, who was still trying to grace her with kisses and love.

“Soul didn’t respect me,” she mumbled after a bit, fingers combing through the fur along their pet’s back. “I broke up with him last night. I threw my phone at him.”

 _Soul didn’t respect her_. When Maka offered no further explaination, Black Star promptly lost all of his shit.

There was a rush of white hot anger flushing through him and he hoisted himself onto his feet at once. If Maka noticed how tightly he held his jaw or how his hands were balled into fists, she didn’t say anything. He grunted “I’ll get your phone back from the bastard,” and tore out of her bedroom and all but sprinted to his truck. There would be hell to pay, best friend or not, for forcing himself on Maka Albarn, of all people; he’d happily hold the shark toothed bitch face back by the hair if Maka wanted to get a few punches in, but for the time being, Black Star needed a little one on one time with his so called brotato chip.

x

He didn’t even bother putting his truck into park; he ripped his door open and stomped his way up the walkway to the front door,  _Boss Ass Bitch_  still blaring from the speakers. He trampled through some of Soul’s mother’s ( _gardener’s_ ) flowers and smashed his fist against the door. Fuck the doorbell. Fuck the door. Fuck Soul.

Fuck Soul for fucking his sister. This was illegal! This was more than against the rules — this was against the laws of _brohood!_  Thou shall not hurt little sisters or women in general! Soul knew better! His whiney pissbaby attitude was no excuse for forcing his way with Black Star’s sister, of all people; he must have a death wish.

When the door opened and he caught a glimpse of unkempt white hair, it was all he needed. With a great battle cry, he glowered “You  _MOTHER FUCKER_ ” and smashed his fist clean into Soul’s nose. The crunch beneath his hand was immensely satisfying.

He kept screaming about what a fucker he was, how he was a right bastard and how he was going to make him wish he’d never set his stupid droopy eyes on Maka’s everything when another Soul rushed over and openly gawked at him. His stupid droopy red eyes were widened in unadulterated horror and  _amusement_ , maybe?

Black Star stopped. Why was Soul staring at him? Hadn’t he just punched the shit out of Soul? He turned, slowly, slack-jawed, to further inspect his victim, and sure enough,  _Wes Evans_  was holding his nose and staring right back at him, the fear of God pulsating in not-stupid-droopy-red-eyes but well shaped blue eyes. Soul guffawed and Black Star fell into a laugh as well — out of nerves or because of the look on Soul’s big brother’s face, he wasn’t sure.

The laughter stopped when he rounded back and clenched his fist at Soul. Soul, who knew Black Star well and also rightfully feared his God, turned and ran like Hell. Black Star shoved past a maid and practically stampeded after him, leaving Wes to nurse his newly broken nose in peace. Or maybe pieces.

x

“… You’re telling me that Maka broke up with you because you wanted to drive her home?”

“Mmmhm.”

“And she thought it was offensive that you thought she shouldn’t be walking alone at three AM?”

“Yep.”

“… I’m going to kill her.”

“Do me a favor and don’t break her nose. Wes’ll forgive, but Maka will punch back.”

x

He found his ex girlfriend sitting in her room with puffy eyes and it didn’t sit right with him. Referring to Maka as his ex felt wrong, like something had been torn out from under him (and really, it had — he hadn’t done anything wrong, he’d only been trying to be a good boyfriend and offer her a ride home! He’d been planning on kissing her at the door and being sappy as fuck! She usually ate that shit up!). She looked pitiful and something in him uncoiled; he was still angry and offended but his will to scold her melted.

Curse Maka and her cute. He was a sucker for green eyes — her eyes, greener than any named shade. He was a goddamn loser for her, stupid for her, and she must’ve known it. She had him wrapped around her little pink finger.

He wanted to kiss her fingers. Goddammit.

He tossed her (newly repaired!) phone on her bed and she looked up, startled. Her expression darkened and she all but shoved her corgi at him and barking out the command to attack and defend his supreme snuggle buddy, but the little guy had known Soul practically his whole life and happily trotted over to kick his hand and sniff his leg. It should have been a sign to her, really; Soul came in peace, and her dog knew that better than he did. Would she listen to his happy whimpers and pants if she didn’t listen to Soul’s begging? He was prepared to beg. He would bury his pride under her sheets and beg if he had to.

“Traitor,” she pouted. The dog rolled onto his back and accepted Soul’s tummy rubs happily. Maka sniffed.

“You should’ve seen it,” Soul said as he plopped onto her floor and rubbed his hand down the furry stomach. “Your brother smashed my brother’s face. If I hadn’t been afraid that he might fillet me next, I probably would’ve taken a picture.”

“He hit Wes?” she gasped. “Is he okay?”

He tried to ignore the sinking in his chest _. It was a reasonable thing to worry about and Maka wasn’t crushing on his brother_ , he tried to tell himself. Maka was too young for Wes. Wes didn’t have the teeth that she apparently liked so much. It wasn’t Wes’ name she’d been sighing only three nights ago as he went down on her (for the second time that night, _thank you very much!_ ) She was still very much into him.

She was just too proud for her own good and her recklessness was going to get her in trouble someday.

“ _I’m fine_ , thanks for asking,” he grunted.

Guilty green eyes loomed over his figure for only a moment. She collected herself and grabbed a pillow to hug against her chest and bury her chin into, since her previous cuddle companion was mutinous and was wiggling happily under Soul’s hand.

A long silence marinated between them, broken only by the pants and sounds of Maka’s faithful corgi wiggling against her carpet and brushing his nose against Soul’s knee.

He felt sick to his stomach. “Maka?”

Green eyes peeked out from the top of her pillow. He tried valiantly and failed not to smile at how astoundingly cute his ex girlfriend was, and the need to rip off the prefix of that title and kiss her face throbbed. “… Yeah?”

Soul leaned over and pressed his forearms against her bed; he’d been in her room a thousand times, laid beside her hundreds; he felt more at home in her room than he did in his own and it was criminal how badly he wanted to circle his arms around her and mutter very uncool things in her ear (he loved her, he loved her so much, she was so beautiful and the apple of his eye and oh please take him back, he’d only been trying to protect her because he loved her so much). Her shoulders straightened out and the pillow dropped in her lap, flopping into a heap of softness and cotton.

He felt a wet nose press into his side and he squeaked, of all things; Maka giggled and he pouted. Her damn dog wagged his tail so hard his whole body shook.

Traitor.

“You’re an overprotective fool, Soul,” she mewled finally, after tugging him by his wrist onto her bed and crawling on top of him. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten straddled, but he wasn’t about to complain, not when there was Maka’s warmth above him and Maka’s hands sliding down the front of his shirt. She was such a hurricane, whirling and shoving him away because of silly, pathetic things (like him trying to drive her home after a movie! He wasn’t disrespecting her!) but pulling him closer when he made unmanly noises at wet things jabbing into him when he was trying to give her bedroom eyes.

He attempted valiantly to keep all parts of him calm and collected.

“It’s not overprotective if I’m trying to keep you alive, Maka,” he deadpanned. “It was three AM. It was dark. Some guys were giving you eyes.”

She scoffed and dragged her fingers down his abdomen. He tried to ignore the way the muscles in his stomach jumped at her touch, the way his body lit aflame when she slid her fingers under his shirt to comb themselves over the patch of hair trailing down to his jeans. “Guys don’t make eyes at me, Soul. And if they did, I’d break their neck.”

He was about to tell her that men certainly did leer at her (especially when she wore mini skirts, especially then) but he was also guilty of the same thing, so he kept his mouth shut. He also didn’t mention that he was the reason why she didn’t notice, because he utilized his fucked up genetics and glared at men so furiously that he was pretty sure they’d combust if they didn’t look away. She never noticed.

Pathetically, he settled for trying to keep himself cool and not focus too heavily on the fingers petting him.

“Can we be together again?”

Her lips curled. “Only if I get to drive your bike.”

Compromise, Soul learned, was one of the most important foundations of a relationship. For example: he settled for letting her drive his bike home with him in the bitch seat, and she settled for letting him slide his hands under her skirt and reacquaint himself with heaven.


	10. Truth Or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes is runner up for MVP.

It’s after Soul peppered her thighs with soft, open mouthed kisses that it happened.

“ATTACK!!”

Black Star used her corgi for evil.

She was ready to grab Soul’s shoe off the floor by her bed and beam Black Star for kicking her door open (again!), but before she can there are a pair of familiar (but still very heavy) paws pressing into her stomach and she groans aloud; Stumpy’s two back paws regretfully mashed onto her breasts as he stood on her, tail wagging in her face as he licked at Soul’s forehead, eager to smother her boyfriend in kisses and love while he tried to smother her. Her breath caught in her throat as she attempted to wiggle free. A fluffy tail caught her in the eye and she felt Soul budge between her legs, breath hesitant against her nearly bare sex.

Soul was weak against the power of cute her dog possessed. She felt him squirm (she couldn’t see anything besides eager corgi butt wiggling and shaking) and lift his head; she pouted and felt the dog bounce forward on her, effectively throwing himself into Soul’s ( _wonderful glorious orgasmic heaven-sent_ ) face.

The face that was supposed to be between her legs and licking her until she saw galaxies. The face that was supposed to help relieve her stress so she could finish her damn essay. She always thought better post-orgasm.

“THAT WAS DEFINITELY NOT STUDYING!!” Her brother barked.

“MY ROOM!” Maka snapped back. “I HAVE A LOCK ON MY DOOR FOR A REASON!”

She managed a glance around the fluffy tail in her face; her lock dangled haphazardly from her wall. Even a padlock had not been enough to protect her sexytimes from being interrupted from her monster of a brother. Was Black Star even human? That was from Home Depot! It was supposed to last! She and Soul had just spent half an hour installing it!

He pouted and folded his arms. “This is not doing homework. I am protecting you from Soul’s nasty dick.”

Soul, who was gathering the dog off of Maka’s abdomen and being slathered with eager kisses, squawked and attempted to send a glare his best friend’s way. The glower didn’t have the intended effect when he had an overweight corgi licking him all over his face and rapidly thawing his angsty little heart.

She shot up and glared at once. Black Star screened and she squinted at him.

“PUT SOME CLOTHES ON! EW!”

She flushed; oh, right. She’d taken her shirt and bra off. There were love bites darkening along the under of her right breast. Black Star looked somewhere in between catatonic and murderous. Maka wiggled her way into Soul’s discarded shirt, crossed her arms over her chest and attempted to fit her brother with the most ferocious glare she could muster.

“Soul’s penis is not nasty,” — Soul sent a nervous grin her way — “and in case you didn’t notice, he still has his pants on!”

Black Star’s eyes narrowed at his best friend. It was impossible for Soul to keep a straight face when the dog was wriggling so furiously, clearly ready to move on and shower his other human with love and affection (and to apologize for stepping all over her). It was a stare down of epic proportions, and Maka was immensely proud of her boyfriend for not wavering under her brother’s stare; Black Star was obnoxious and intense, even if it was for her sake (she didn’t need his help!) but Soul sat tall, even while Stumpy wiggled out of his grasp and galloped over to smoosh his face into Maka’s.

He huffed and crossed his arms, clearly not pleased with what he’d walked into. “We have rules for a reason! No fooling around!”

“We’re seventeen!” Maka snapped, hoping that she looked at least a little bit intimidating with a corgi licking her cheek. “And we use protection!”

“GOD.”

Her expression was wicked. “He was going to use his  _mouth_ , Black Star—”

“LALALA, I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT—”

“THEN GET OUT!”

Maka gently plopped her pet into the hall and kissed his little head; she was not quite as gentle while kicking her brother out of her room (it involved much more kicking and screaming, book-wielding, and bruises on Black Star’s forearms) but got the job done. She huffed heartily as she slammed her door behind her.

Soul sat on her bed, hair mussed and gloriously shirtless. If she didn’t have annoying older brothers on the brain, she might’ve been able to enjoy the sight a little more. She committed it to memory instead, for safe keeping and reference, for when she was alone at night and her  _bother_  wasn’t home.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh… that happened.”

“I’m going to get revenge,” she decided at once; it didn’t matter how aroused she still was and how hot Soul looked when he licked his lips at her — there were bigger matters at hand, like teaching her brother a lesson and earning herself the sexual freedom that both she and Soul deserved.

Lazy eyes watched her drop down onto her bed, grab for her notebook and start scribbling. And like the dutiful boyfriend he was, he slunk down onto her bed beside her, made no effort to undress her again, and leaned his head against her shoulder to watch her work.

x

Come midnight, however, and she was still very, very frustrated. And angry.

And scaling the side of Soul’s house to slip in his window. It didn’t matter that his bedroom was on the third story — she was an excellent climber, had been since the days of counters and cookie jars, and pulling herself up assorted greenery and bricks to grapple her way up Soul’s house was just the next level in badassery for her. She was on a mission and she intended to complete it.

She was going to have sex with her boyfriend and she was going to like it. She was going to slip in his bed at night and be sexy and dangerous. He was going to be impressed with her prowess and dedication; spontaneous midnight sex was one of his turn ons, she’d leaned, and there was leftover heat still burning in her abdomen from their earlier romp. It was hard not to think about how Soul looked, white head of hair happily nestled between her thighs. There was something incredibly arousing about how eager he was about going down on her.

He offered more often than not; she didn’t expect oral but wasn’t against it. And he always looked so happy after she finished, never asked for her to reciprocate.

Climbing while wet was distracting. She hoisted herself in through the window and shut it behind her quietly.

He was so cute when he slept, all cuddled into his blankets like a lump. His breath had evened out to a steady beat, legato and slow, flowing and warming her from her core up.

She couldn’t stop herself from squealing quietly before worming her way beneath his comforter and sliding her hands onto him. His skin was warm beneath her touch, pulse steady and constant in his sleep. He was such a heater, all heated and cozy and she brushed her thighs together anxiously.

She sighed his name and wiggled her way over him, pressing her legs on either sides of his hips and sliding her hands up beneath the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers combed and stroked down the brief tuft of hair that trailed into his sweatpants. Even in the dark, she could still make out the shape of his man bits, outlined in loose cotton; was he a bit larger than usual? Was he already excited? In his sleep?

She ground her hips against him and let a sigh slip through.

Gleefully, she leaned down and brushed her lips against the lobe of his ear; she wasn’t sure where her confidence was coming from but she was all fiery heat and dampness and she needed relief, needed his teeth and his mouth right where he’d been hours before. She’d never been so aroused and hot — burning, burning, and she was so, so soaked.

“I want to sit on your face,” she breathed, brushing her lips against the corner of his ear, against the side of his hairline and rubbing her hand  _downdowndown_  his stomach.

A hand slipped around her wrist and tugged her back to safer zones, over clothing and pressing it against her own stomach. She gasped quietly and squinted down at him.

Blue eyes smiled back at her, cautious and gentle. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

She choked on her breath and squawked. Wes raised a finger to her mouth (Wes’ finger!!! _Wes’!!!_ ) and shooshed her quietly, expression kind and forgiving. His eyes were so sympathetic and —  _proud?_  Was he proud?!

Maka sat straighter, back erect; her only saving grace was Wes’ lack of erectness. She would not have to tie herself to a stake and ask Black Star to set her ablaze if she didn’t arouse Soul’s brother. She thanked Jesus but also God that he was still pleasantly flaccid and calm, even if his disregard for her horror was unnerving in itself.

She’d sat on his lap before when she was a kid, and now she’d grazed his penis with her fingers. Through his boxers, but still! Still! It was  _horribleawful_  and it was betrayal!

“ _Mmh hhh hhhrhh!_ ” She hummed, eyes wide and stomach cold. Her throat was on fire and she prayed to whatever god was listening that she didn’t barf all over Soul’s hot older brother, the same older brother that Maka had crushed on when she was ten.

He smiled and lifted his hand to pat her head. There was a rush of shame that coursed through her core.

Three minutes later and she was stumbling into Soul’s actual room (thanks to a set of directions and a simpering, knowing smile from Big Bro Wes), face burning and still shamefully aroused. She knew parts of Wes that she never should. She’d grazed his treasure trail with her traitorous hands. She’d told  _Wes_  that she wanted to  _sit on his face_.

She hadn’t even told Soul that yet.

Maka briefly considered smothering herself in Soul’s pillows, but decided that honesty was the best policy and he deserved to know that his nerdy little girlfriend had just committed the cardinal sin and touched another Evans below the belt. His stomach hair was soft too.

Humiliated, she plopped herself onto him and shook him from sleep, stringing apologies and “ _oh my god, oh my god_ ” between mutters of his name.

Groggy Soul was a cute Soul. Lidded red eyes stared up at her lazily and another wave of damp heat stroked the apex of her thighs (she was weak, so weak, and he was too attractive with bed head and no shirt, of course Soul didn’t sleep with a shirt on and Wes did!). He scrubbed at his eyes and garbled out a “Maka”, voice rough from sleep and doing nothing to sate the fire that brewed within her.

“ _I touched Wes_!” she bawled. His expression jumped. “I sneaked in his window and touched him and told him that I wanted to sit on his face because I thought he was you, and oh my god, _I am so sorry!_  I thought he was you!”

Slim fingers stroked along the back of her bare thighs. He left a trail of goose flesh in his wake and she shivered.

Soul licked his lips and she stared at his mouth. She could not ignore the excitement that was twitching below her and she squirmed against his lap curiously. She absolutely did not miss the twitch of his lips or the set of his jaw — or the hardness that was buried against her thigh.

He might’ve been half awake, but he’d always been easy to work up. Her previous excitement flared bright and her face burned further, brighter and brighter until she was nothing but pink and a strumming, steady need for his tongue to work her until she saw stars and cosmos. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth and it was a problem — she wanted his teeth on her inner thigh and his face buried between her legs and wanted to press her back against his wall and scratch her nails down his bed frame.

“…  _Sit on my face?_ ” he cleared his throat, voice deep. It rumbled through her and she bit her lip.

“I’m so sorry,” she mewled.

His lips curled and he brushed his thumb along the back of her thigh, right below the swell of her rump. “S’alright,” he murmured. “But sit on my face?”

A few whispers about how much he loved her in her pleated skirts and how wet she was, and she (finally!) got the relief she’d been so adamant on receiving — riding his mouth was everything and more, she left nail marks on the wood of his bedpost that he swore he was going to take with him and frame when he moved out, and no, he insisted that she didn’t need to reciprocate, he already got off to her getting off.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grinned lazily at her. She blushed.

Sirens blared, red and blue lights flashed in Soul’s window, and Maka reconsidered smothering herself with his pillows. Maybe she’d ask Soul to. Maybe Othello was onto something.

x

Spirit Albarn happened to be on duty the night that the Evans’ silent alarm went off. The break in, come to find out, was a false alarm, Wes reassured him, and that he would make sure that he didn’t leave his window open again at night.

Maka couldn’t look Wes in the eye at dinner.


	11. Queen and a Boy Without a Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a coherent timeline?

Watching Maka tote around after Wes did nothing for Soul’s self esteem.

If there was one thing that drove him absolutely up the wall, it was the way Maka smiled at him — she was ten and Wes was way too old for her (grossly old!), but whenever his big brother came over to pick him up from Black Star’s house, Maka got moon eyed and  _goopy_.

It was gross. He’d always thought the best part about Maka was her wit — her brain was huge, her brother was absolutely right (and a bit crude) to call her a nerd, and watching her fumble and stumble over to his brother to squee about the book she’d just finished stirred something inside of him. It was the same something that always stirred when it came to Wes and other people; he just hadn’t expected it from Maka, of all people, because she was his best friend’s sister and sure, they spent a lot of time together, but he wouldn’t say that he was super close to her.

Sure, he played Mario Kart with her often and sure, he was in her class and sat next to her, but that was because she was his best friend’s sister and the only girl in class that didn’t make him want to crawl into himself and hide. It didn’t mean anything special.

And Wes was so nice to her. He was nice to Black Star too — nicer than Soul was sometimes, if he was being honest — but he was downright kind to Maka. He brought Maka books and hair ribbons, sat her on his lap and listened to her prattle on about her spelling bee trophies and the stories she finished. 

It wasn’t fair; Soul would’ve listened to her stories. He would’ve complimented her trophies too, maybe. He might consider helping her tie her new ribbons in her hair.

Wes was supposed to dote on him! He was his brother, dammit, and Maka already had a big brother who doted on her (in his own messed up way). She got all the nice things in life — friends, family, looks. She wasn’t allowed to have  _his_ brother too! 

He shot her a dirty look when she tugged on Wes’ sleeve. She stuck her tongue out and blew raspberry while deftly ignoring Black Star’s taunts.

x

She sat straighter on the piano bench and beamed at him. “Soul!”

He did a double take, and then a triple for good measure. Maka in the music room? Maka could barely manage the recorder (and ‘ _barely’_  was giving her the benefit of the doubt).

"… Maka?" he echoed, shifting his weight. His book bag dangled over his shoulder and only ambled over and slumped next to her when she reached out her hands and wiggled her fingers. "Uh?"

"Play something!" 

He blanched, stomach squirming, and scooted to the very edge of his seat. For someone so small, she had a huge presence and it unnerved him. How could anyone so tiny smile so bright? She was blinding him.

He settled back into his indifference (cool, cool indifference!) and dropped his bag behind him. “I don’t really want to play anything.”

"But…" she chewed her lip and puffed out her cheeks briefly. She regarded him for a long time, green eyes searching, before she nodded at him, slammed her fingers down onto the keys and earned herself a squawk from him.

Her brows raised and she squealed. “I’ll play instead?”

"Please spare me," he groaned, because good lord, Maka was awful and she was beating on the ivories like a glockenspiel. She was so reckless and had no  sense of tempo or rhyme that it was physically painful to sit and listen to her play.

It was a civil duty, he told himself, to grab her wrists and talk her down from single handedly murdering the school’s one piano. She grinned wide at him and he laughed aloud. “You are awful, Maka.”

"Teach me, then! You’re soooo good. I heard you play, you know. Wes let me watch some of your recitals."

Sobered and feeling very sick, he released her wrists and slumped his shoulders in; Maka and Wes bonding over his recitals was everything that made him toss and turn at night. Wes’ appreciation of his sad excuse for music was biased, unconditional sibling love that made Soul sore and bitter, but he expected better out of Maka. She was the brightest girl he knew.

He pursed his lips. “You’re kind of a moron when it comes to music. What do you know?”

She did not flinch at his harshness. Her thin fingers clicked at his shoulder and then bumped herself against him; he jumped and she scooted closer, smile warm and tiny, secretive and just for him.

She was ten and she could read him like a book. Bibliophile.

"I know how to feel things though, Soul," she informed him, so matter of fact and nosy that he had to laugh at her. She pouted. "And Wes explained some stuff to me, but I’d rather hear it from you."

"Fat chance. Why don’t you go marry him if you like him so much? He’ll talk music with you."

She pinked. “I don’t want to marry  _Wes!_ ”

"Mrs. Maka Evans.  _Barf_.”

Squinting at him, she huffed and kicked at him; her dress shoes caught his shin and he howled, face pinched together painfully and she slammed the fall board down on the piano. It clanked shut and echoed throughout the empty music room, but her eyes were the loudest noise.

They were so big and so goddamn green. He was twelve and he couldn’t remember ever thinking eyes were pretty before, but Maka’s were top tier.

Dangerous thoughts, because she wanted to be Mrs. Wesley Evans and not anything else. He didn’t care and he wasn’t jealous, because he was trying hard to be cool and Maka still wore her hair in pigtails (even if she had prettyprettypretty green eyes and soft wrist skin), so he let her yank him up and drag him out when she realized that indoor recess was about over without much of a fight.

Having a sister would be cool. Black Star thought she was a cool sister, and Black Star was his best friend. Maka would be a fine sister.

Her hand on his wrist burned.

x

"Maka decided that she wanted to mount me last night. Is it safe to assume she had the wrong bed?"

Soul wondered if he could sink into his seat any further. Was it reasonable to wish for the couch to swallow him whole so he didn’t have to suffer through his brother’s jaunts and jeers?

Wes grinned (that damn know it all grin, the one that made Soul’s insides flare with rebellious broken pride) and continued to roll up his sleeves. Why he felt the need to a) wear button up shirts around the house and b) roll up his sleeves to play Wii, Soul didn’t know, but took to glaring at his older brother as Wes’ simpering smile grew tenfold. “I didn’t know you two were an item. Why didn’t you tell me you finally took the leap of faith?”

"Because it’s no one’s business but mine?"

He probably deserved the well-aimed WiiMote to the shoulder. He glared and Wes beamed, eyes twinkling. He was having the time of his damn life.

"I like Maka, you know," he hummed, finally sinking down to sit beside him (straight up, posture perfect, the picturesque stature that made Soul want to sink down more). "She’ll make a fine sister someday."

Soul was sure he’d die. “Fuck off.”

"With Maka? No, I don’t really want to. She’s cute and smart, but I’d prefer not to rob the cradle, thanks. By the way, she might’ve explored a little too thoroughly last night. It was like being felt up by a blind kitten. How was the face sitting?"

Soul had two options; die of embarrassment and sink into the couch while his head caught aflame, or turn up the snide attitude and brag about his new found sex life to his brother until he was grossed out enough to stop asking. 

Grinning wickedly, he tugged on his wrist strap and kicked at him. “I have claw marks on my headboard.”

"Oh, good!"

Not the expected reaction. Soul squawked and turned to stare at him, but Wes was all proud smiles and bright eyes. “… Good… that I made Maka scratch up my bed?”

"Well yes! That means she enjoyed it. Just as long as she doesn’t beat her head around. You need to protect that head of hers. She’s going places with that brain."

"… Uuuh, yeah," Soul blinked, face heating; his plan had sufficiently backfired and he was left to try and salvage what was left of his ego. It wasn’t discouraging to listen to Wes congratulate and compliment him, but the topic at hand wasn’t something that was usually appropriate or kosher or whatever. 

Because Soul had never been as particularly crude and sexual in nature as Black Star, who freaked him out a bit with his tales of leather and drunken romps. For a long time, Soul had been worried that he’d been broken of sorts — he appreciated pretty girls but didn’t particularly want anything to do with them, understood their aesthetics and appeal (boobs were nice to look at, very nice) but had never felt particularly drawn to them.

Until Maka at fifteen, with legs for days and thin limbs and breasts that looked excellently palm-sized and soft, and he was drawn like a moth to the flame. And it had been an issue for months, because she was his best friend’s sister and he knew it was breaking about seven rules of conduct in Brodom, but he’d suffered through a sad hand job from a random pretty girl (aftermath of getting drunk and letting Black Star hook him up with someone, regret) and nothing lit him up faster than Maka in thigh high socks and combat boots.

Discussing sex was weird when he the girl at hand was someone he was actually interested in. And talking about it with his big brother — the one who had babysat her and carried her around on his shoulders while they baked cakes and listen to Harry Potter audio books — was even weirder. 

Wes smiled. “I’m happy for you. Just remind her about the alarm next time.”

"… And which side of the goddamn house I sleep on?"

They both laughed aloud. The laughing stopped when Mario Party started, as did any talk of Maka and her sitting on anyone’s face (but it didn’t mean Soul stopped thinking about it — it was the hottest goddamn thing that had ever happened to him and he might’ve shed a single tear). 


	12. Big Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waaaay out of order.

She looked like an angel in white. It caught Black Star off guard. **  
**

He’d known she looked nice all dressed up, of course — he remembered watching her walk out of her room before prom, all done up and hair braided like some sort of nymph princess, but there was so much more finality and elegance that practically glowed off of her.

“Damn,” he laughed, brows raised. “You almost look sixteen. Congrats, pigtails.”

His baby sister pinked and the shade was radiant against her complexion, all light shades and glowing rose against the blondeness of her hair. It brought out the green in her eyes — eyes that he’d seen brighten over stolen cookies and darken over listless phone calls to her mother. She warmed at the sight of him and stood up at once and he was washed with a wave of affection for his stupid, crazy little sister.

Lithe fingers brushed blonde hair behind her ear and she laughed. “Shut up, Black Star. Isn’t Papa supposed to be the one to come in here and try to talk me out of this?”

“Chea,” he snorted. “But we locked him outside for a bit. Needed to chill the fuck out.”

When she dropped back down to sit and smoothed her hand over her white-clad abdomen, he made his way over and sank down beside her. He’d sat beside her on her bed hundreds of times — talking about her mother, pulling her pigtails, being force-fed information while she attempted to tutor him and not disembowel him in the process — but he’d never done it wearing a tux. He was not a black-tie kind of guy, and she stifled an anxious giggle when he picked at his collar and let out a whine.

Her elbow nudged his forearm and she grinned at him. He could see the tightness in her brows, the clearest sign of her nerves by far, and had to stop himself from messing her hair. He was not fluent in fritzy things like hair and vanity — that was more of Soul’s department — but lived with Maka long enough to know that her hair was down and curled, and that meant it had taken her longer than the normal three minutes that she usually dedicated to her pigtails.

“Hey,” he said. “You ready?”

Her lips pursed. “Do you think it’s going to be okay? I’m wearing a designer gown. Soul’s mother gave me a vintage necklace to wear.”

“And you look the part! You get to be Soul’s trophy wife. Congrats. Girls would kill to fill your shoes.”

When Maka didn’t laugh with him, he nudged her back and grinned wrily. She scoffed and shoved him at his shoulder playfully — she was all bark and no bite, he knew, because she was afraid of wrinkling her dress or breaking the clasp of the pendant around her neck, or some other fickle thing that only Maka would stress over.

Black Star pulled his arms behind his head and stretched. He exhaled heartily and then slouched beside her, elbows on his knees and glancing over at her. Her posture was rigid, picturesque and tense all at once. She was a porcelain doll, delicate and lovely, meticulously painted and easy to break. It didn’t suit Maka. His sister was spitfire and passionate. She was the smartest person he knew. She was also the bravest.

“I’m just pulling your leg. We both know Soul is your trophy husband. He’s the pretty face and you’re the breadwinner,” he retorted. “Everyone in that goddamn room knows your big brain is gonna be bringing in the cash. All your years of nerding paid off. Wes is already braggin’ to people about how his new sister-in-law is a fuckin’ genius. You graduated from Yale, pigtails.”

A smile lit up and she glanced back at him. Her hands ceased wringing in her lap and her shoulders loosened.

“… I did graduate from Yale.”

“High honors and some shit.  _Nerd_.”

He didn’t even squawk when she pinched him; he moved quickly, linking his arm around her waist and yanking her into a bear hug. She was tinier than he ever remembered, lithe and slim waisted, but her skinny little arms linked around his neck and he knew at once that she was still the same fierce little girl that had punched him out the first time he’d yanked on her hair. There was a serenity in the familiarity that hugging her brought, even though their hugs had been far and few.

She’d be okay. She was Maka Fucking Albarn, big-brained extraordinaire, and he had all the faith in the world that she could keep Soul’s whiney, mopey ass in line. She could make him happy — and he was sure that Soul could do the same for her. Black Star had known it from the moment his best friend had actually worked up the balls to discuss marriage to his sister with him. 

Maka murmured a ‘thank you’ and he hugged her tighter. She squeaked. 

She smelt like flowers and vanilla — expensive perfume that Soul’s mother had forced on her, he was sure, but it was girly and ritzy and made him sniffle. It was the perfume, he insisted, when she pulled back, laughed, and wiped at his damp eyes. It was definitely the perfume that turned him into a weak-willed crybaby who bawled over his little sister in her wedding dress.


	13. More Than I Bargained For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the regret and shame trilogy.

Maka Albarn was sure of only two things in life: Black Star was going to party himself into jail someday, and Soul’s voice was going to be the death of her. **  
**

x

She could handle twelve year old Soul’s voice. He was the same pitch as Black Star, the same boyish and childish intonation as all of the other boys in her class. He slurred his words sometimes and had the hint of a lisp, which she assumed was due to his too-big jaw and monstrous teeth, but that was okay; it was cute, in an outlandish and overgrown puppy sort of way.

Thirteen year old Soul’s voice cracked and broke while Black Star’s didn’t. She teased and taunted and giggled, because he pinked and it was her only line of defense against his jeers over her slim frame and training-bra clad self. He squawked and cracked deliriously the one time he walked in on her changing — she’d had her back to him, thank goodness, but he’d screamed and resembled a dying crow when he scrambled out and scampered down the hall.

When he left with Wes on a trip to Europe over Summer break, she’d expected him to come back and squeak at her some more. She spent the better part of June chugging milk and eating peanuts, because the internet said they promoted breast growth and she had something to prove. July was spent bikini shopping with Kim and Liz — and then mourning, because most of her other friends had graduated from training bra days and she was still childish and not yet a woman, never a woman, keep dreaming Maka, reach for the stars and blow out the candles on your birthday cake and make a wish.

August was anticipation and laughing because Black Star still wasn’t taller than her. August was also realizing her hair was getting long (past her shoulder blades!) and slumber parties with the girls. She listened to stories about shower heads and fingers and wondered why she hadn’t braved the waters yet. She hadn’t felt any need to. She was hardly alone, because her brother was always looming around and she wouldn’t be caught dead with her hand in her panties if Black Star was in a five mile radius.

Fourteen year old Maka was ready to laugh in Soul’s stupid snarky face for walking in on her changing and for his voice cracks and squeaks. She’d been waiting all summer for her revenge. She told herself that she wasn’t going to feel bad when his brows creased.

But then Black Star greeted fourteen year old Soul at the door and he was a head taller than him. Maka shot up and stared from the couch and wondered how he could’ve shot up so quickly. Clearly Soul had been drinking his milk, too, only he’d been infinitely more successful in his endeavors, because he was lanky and long limbed and she still didn’t fill a bra.

He greeted them, his voice dipped into a masculine tenor and her stomach plummeted.

It was too deep. It was too much for her fragile heart. She was afraid it would leap out of her chest and that limbs would melt away. It was not the Soul she’d hugged goodbye, not the Soul that had let Black Star pull him into a noogie, not the Soul who suffered from chronic voice cracks and sat by while her brother mocked her flat chest.

He was tall. And he’d (mostly) grown into his jaw. And he was still talking — she was definitely beginning to understand what Liz and Patty had been raving about and what was so enticing about older boys.

She was experiencing attraction.

Attraction to Soul’s voice. Her brother’s best friend’s voice. The same voice that had broken when he used to call her fat ankles and laugh immaturely when her brother pulled on her (training) bra straps. It was dangerous and shameful, but there was a heat spreading in the pit of her abdomen and he opened his mouth and she wanted to curl up and die. And also close her eyes and let herself soak it in. Could he recite some Shakespeare, maybe? Poetry? Tell her that he’d missed her and that she looked lovely, Maka, had she grown?

She was definitely squeezing her thighs together. He caught her glance and she nearly melted over lazy red eyes and a boyish grin — sleepy, frustrating eyes that reminded her of dark nights and bedrooms. She jumped to her feet, squeaked out an excuse and beat feet out of the living room.

“Pigtails!” Black Star squawked.

And then “Maka?”, and she quivered against her slammed door. She wished Soul didn’t know her name. It sounded much too enticing in his voice — his new voice, his Man Voice, the voice of fantasies and anxious fingers rubbing against the button of her cutoffs.

She shook her head and shoved herself down onto her bed. No! She would not fall victim to sexual depravity! She was her mother’s daughter and not her father’s spawn, and she wasn’t about to sink to his level and touch herself to Soul’s voice. It was dirty, awful, deplorable! She wasn’t a creep and she wasn’t about to fetishize her childhood friend’s voice just because his balls had finally dropped and he had a growth spurt.

Besides, she had summer reading to catch up. She popped three peanuts into her mouth, curled up next to her stuffed bunny and cracked open  _Catcher in the Rye_.

She was pretty sure she was safe from the boys. Her door was closed and they were headed outside to hang out with Kilik and Patty, and then Soul would be back home and she’d refreeze her scalding lady garden and everything could (hopefully) go back to normal. The planets would be back in alignment and she could figure out something new to focus on for Soul — his ears, maybe? His eyebrows? His hands?

x

She thought wrong.

She thought very, very wrong. Soul was sleeping over. He was a room away and muttering, of all things, in a raspy, sleepy voice and she was wetter than she’d ever been.

Shamefully, Maka slid under her covers and tried to pretend that she wasn’t horridly aroused over anything as creepy and miniscule as Soul’s Man Voice plus Sleepy Rasp. It was worse than before. So much worse.

Counting sheep wasn’t helping tame the beast that had awoken in her. Staring at her ceiling only helped her focus on the way his voice dipped when he needed to catch his breath. Soul sounded delirious on sleep and she was delirious over the pitch of his voice and the breathy way he laughed at 3 AM. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will the heat away, but her panties were soaked and Soul was murmuring, of all things, and it shook her to her core. She was past the point of no return, and wishing and willing Soul to shut his face and to go sleep already wasn’t working.

Her fingers slid past the waist of white cotton and reminded herself that she was absolutely her father’s daughter. A wave of shame clotted in her throat, but it was quickly overshadowed by the new dampness of her fingers and the delightful way her nerves jolted when Soul chuffed when she rubbed her clit just the right way.

Maka had never touched herself before. Her first solo adventure was inspired by the sleepy muttering of one Soul Evans and her brother was down the hall. She was breaking all of her own rules and also committing awful, sinful acts that would have her mother shaking her head and her father threatening murder. Worst of all, she was entirely sure that Soul would be laugh in her face if he found out that she was so affected by him talking, of all things, because he’d made it quite clear that he wasn’t attracted to ‘flat chested girls like her’.

One of her hands was pawing at her bare breast. She wasn’t entirely flat, she mused — there was a little bit of meat beneath the flesh, just enough, and she was certainly sensitive (or sufficiently stimulated — Soul was reciting hipster lyrics and her breath was rushing).

Her mouth mashed against her pillow and she exhaled shakily. Her fingers curled within herself and her hips raised. She brushed her thumb over her own nipple and she squeaked. She was exploring herself, testing the limits while Soul served as her spank bank of shame.

She was fourteen when she touched herself for the first time. She was fourteen when she came to the sound of Soul muttering about how cool Italy had been and how he couldn’t way to go back and eat some more authentic dishes. She was fourteen when she spent an entire week avoiding Soul’s eyes, chugging milk and wondering why his voice deepening had hit her like a freight train


	14. Overnight Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the regret and shame trilogy.

Soul really wished walking in on Maka changing had been as awful as he told Black Star it was.

Maybe then he could get the image out of his head. He closed his eyes and saw slim, bare backs and milky white flesh. He saw a sleek neck and slender shoulders, and a ridiculously cute pink and white dotted training bra. He kept remembering the way her blonde hair fell onto her shoulder blades and the slight curve of her waist — it came back in flurries and vivid moments, just as his ineloquent escape did, complete with Maka threatening murder and his best friend laughing his ass off.

Walking in on Maka changing had been eye opening. It had been an awakening of sorts. It awoke a monstrous shame boner and an affinity for a slight frame and training bras. He felt both creepy and intrigued, of all things, because he had been so sure for so long that Maka was practically a sister to him.

A sister with an elegant looking back and a cute training bra. A sister that he was maybe-sorta-kinda touching himself to.

He was his own best friend, he was pretty sure, because his hand was on his dick and he was rubbing out the most shameful of all hard ons and Black Star was going to neuter him if he found out that he was getting off to the thought of Maka in her goddamn childish undergarments. He was not getting into heaven. He would not pass go. He was going straight to sister-fucking-hell and he was taking the most regretful (and messy) of all orgasms with him.

He was hard enough to fuck concrete because he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft her skin looked and how if she needed a training bra meant she had boobs to speak for. Was he into small tits? He throbbed in his hand and he grunted — yeah, he was definitely into small tits and skinny blondes, god fucking dammit, and he was putting Mr. Kleenex’s kids through college.

How had Maka become his personal spank bank? Where had he gone wrong? Was this his punishment for standing by while her brother picked on her? Was he being tortured for mocking her over her body? He hadn’t meant any of it — he knew what it was like to look in the mirror and not like his reflection, he really did; he’d been so sure that Maka was comfortable and confident enough to punch him in the arm or smack him with a book and he hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion with Black Star. He wanted to stay in his best bro’s good graces, but he’d always been careful not to get too involved with the jaunting and jeering.

It was all so ridiculous — she’d still had pants on! It wasn’t like he’d seen anything he hadn’t before; he’d gone swimming with the Albarns plenty of times, had seen Maka in dainty tankinis, in fiercer states of undress, and nothing had lit him up quite like her training bra. Maybe it was because he caught her undressing; maybe it was because there was something more inherently sexual about it.

He hadn’t even seen her panties.

Not that they’d be arousing anyway — he was pretty sure sensible Maka wore nothing but granny panties, five-pack cotton Hanes (“It’s cost efficient!”) and a lot of white and puppy-printed little numbers. He was positive that there would be no trace of red lace or silk in her panty drawer.

His breath came out in heated puffs and pants. He was close — too close, and his hips were jerking and her name was on his lips, threatening to fall. He wanted to sew his mouth together and also chant her name like a prayer, because he was on the ledge and he wanted nothing more than to slide his hands around her and fondle her through her training bra. He wanted to feel the softness of her flesh and her head fall back onto his shoulder.

He came with a wheeze and visions of pink polka dots and straps with bows flashing behind his lids.

He was the absolute worst.

He wondered if she had a pair of panties to match. He thought not.

x

Things were more difficult during the summer he spent with Wes. Fourteen was not any easier for his libido. Fourteen was not any easier for shameful, awkward boners and thinking about home, about Maka and how it always came back to her (literally) whenever he got a moment alone and decided to crank it for some relief. He thought the vacation would’ve been a blessing and an excuse to get away from it all and sort himself out, but nothing was going according to plan.

He was sitting in a hotel room in Spain with his laptop when he finally committed the cardinal sin and Googled small breasted porn. His inquiring mind had to know.

Search results popped up and Soul whispered “Oh, no.”

He couldn’t keep himself from scrolling. What had things come to? Was he actually googling naked, small-breasted women because he hadn’t seen Maka’s boobs and he wanted more detail for his intimate, solo shame sessions? How the mighty had fallen.

What should’ve been ‘boring’ and ‘boyish’ — Black Star’s words, not his — were definitely ‘cute’ and ‘enticing’ because he rather wanted to get his mouth on them. He was bombarded with perky nipples and flesh held high effortlessly without the aid of a bra. He thought about Maka again, with her arms raised up in a stretch and how these tits would look on her, barely-there but still easy for grasping and squeezing. He braved thinking about palming them, rolling a nipple between his fingers, and then his fly was open and his hand was in his pants. Again.

He was getting really tired of choking the chicken.

x

“Sit down, brochacho. Your god needs to have a word with you.”

Soul slumped into the chair. He was shoved in and then Black Star slammed a stack of magazines down onto the table. Soul caught glance of the title — Bit O’ Titties — and sunk in his seat. Fuck.

“Soul,” Black Star began, very seriously. “You need to get right with god. Your god. Me. You need to get right with me.”

He wondered if he sunk far enough into the chair if he could disappear. Could he melt into a puddle? Could he will himself into the ground? Could he dig through the hardwood floor and tunnel his way into the fiery pits of hell? Anything was preferable to having this conversation with Black Star ever.

His best friend flipped the magazine on the top open and tapped his index finger against a particularly showy picture of a topless woman. His digit, of course, patted over her face, because why would Black Star care what the girl looked like? “Soul, I can forgive a lot of things.”

“Star,” he tried weakly. 

“No. I can forgive your perverted fuckin’ mind. I can forgive your nasty ass dick getting off to small tits. That’s your prerogative—”

Soul squawked. “Bro—”

“I can forgive the tiny plaid skirts,” Black Star nodded solemnly. Soul scooted his chair back from the table and mashed his palms against the edge of the table to brace himself. “Shit’s kinky. Everybody digs a school girl every now and again. But the pigtails?”

He broke into a cold sweat.  _No, god,_  he begged.  _Please_. He had so much more to live for.

Black Star’s jaw set and he flicked another page — an upskirt shot of, of course, the same girl, who looked so uncomfortable alike Black Star’s sister that Soul knew he was being accused of betrayal and mutiny. There was a dangerous spark in his slitted eyes and Soul could practically feel the flames sprouting from his mouth. There were very few things that could elicit true anger out of his best bro: insulting his friends, or creeping on Maka, and he had considerable evidence that Soul was very, very into said pigtail wearing, plaid skirt adorning, small breasted little sister.

He pressed his fist against the crease of the mag. Soul heard the paper crinkle beneath the force and he wondered if his spine was the next to go.

“I draw the line at the pigtails,” he hissed, voice lower than Soul had ever heard it and expression tight. “You’re my best bro and you know that, Abroham. But Maka is off limits. She needs her nerd brain to get into some geeky school and you’re not going to ruin that for her by sticking your gross ass penis in her mouth, understood?”

“Understood,” he grunted. It was a conversation that he didn’t want to be having with Black Star. Not now, not ever; he was not crushing on Maka, he told himself. She merely fit the budget and had become the superstar of his spank bank and shameful boyish fantasies, and sue him if he needed a little help getting it up sometimes.

“Good.”

He watched as his best friend balled up the magazines — all of the magazines, even the ones that didn’t feature pin ups of slim girls in red heels on motorcycles — and tossed them into the fireplace. Soul watched his only salvation burn. So long, companions. Looked like he was back to imagining Maka in training bras and the stupidly short shorts she’d taken to wearing when they went bike riding.

Black Star slung an arm around him and yanked him up. “C’mon! I’ll introduce you to some real girls. You’ll get a handful of tits and change your mind. There’s a cute redhead I wanna introduce you to.” 


	15. Give Me Therapy, I'm A Walking Travesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of the regret and shame trilogy. This one's all rokkasen.

Soul’s first mistake was letting Black*Star talk him into going to this stupid high school party.

Soul’s second mistake was getting into a closet with a girl from his math class who currently had her hand down his pants.

He didn’t even know her name but apparently she had a crush on him for an entire year. She was a pretty redhead, Soul thought, but he had never paid any attention to her before she had him cornered in a closet. Math Class was really very nice and Soul didn’t dislike the line of freckles across her nose and chest. Black*Star had made a pathetic math joke about studying her curves and angles  but Soul really only wanted to get out of this experience with his dignity in tact.

Soul sent a silent apology her way for shying away from a well meaning kiss; it landed on his jaw in a sticky, uncomfortable strawberry mess and he wondered, not for the first time, why he had ever listened to his supposed best friend.

This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be exciting. Mostly, this was supposed to be a good way to get off and quell their raging teenage hormones, according to Black*Star, who had disappeared with not one but two girls over an hour ago into some upstairs bathroom.

This? This was none of those things.

A hanger dug into his back uncomfortably as the poor girl tried to elicit some sort of response from him that wasn’t a cringe. Soul couldn’t help it. He had been expecting something more when she wrapped her hand around him and stroked— like stars or sparks or anything that wasn’t mild horror. It was actually depressing how little interest he had in this handjob or Math Class, through no fault of her own.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe his childhood of growing up with slightly emotionally distant parents had ruined him forever. Maybe letting himself get talked into this closet was his way of trying to kill the idea that there was something wrong with him and he wouldn’t die alone because, hey, look at him, he was doing what everyone else did.

Soul knew he had hormones. He got awkward teenage erections and masturbated and watched the occasional porn like many other repressed high school boys. He thought girls were pretty. Breasts? Amazing. Asses? Works of art. Legs? Kill him now they are so gorgeous. But actually engaging in sex was a foreign concept. All of the kisses he had participated in had been fine, he guessed, but nothing that got him going. No goosebumps, no stars, nothing, nada. This was the first time he had let another person, other than himself, try to get him off and so far it was not going well.

If he let himself think about it, he would recognize that there was one girl, the girl, who starred in many of his pathetic fantasies but she was so off limits that Soul felt guilty even entertaining the most innocent thoughts of her. There was no way that he could ever lay a hand on his best friend’s sister so here he was. In a closet. Participating (barely) in what could only be described as the saddest handjob in the history of handjobs.

Much to both of their relief, he finally came with a shudder. But at what cost? Soul thought. He felt a little gross and a lot of awkward and just wanted to get the hell out of there and take six showers.

“Uh, sorry. And thanks.”

He was literally the biggest dick, Soul realized as he pulled up his pants and ran out of the closet to find Black*Star, and maybe it was better if he just did everyone a favor and died alone.

—

“Be a good boy and beg!”

Soul almost dropped an inebriated Black*Star on his kitchen floor when he heard a very familiar, commanding voice coming from Black*Star’s living room. The words— and the voice— did something very weird to Soul’s stomach that might have been arousal but he was just going to blame it on the alcohol.

Maka Albarn sat on her couch in very unsexy Hello Kitty pajama pants and a hoodie that she had stolen from Black*Star. She held an excited, wriggling puppy in her arms who kept trying to bite the ribbons in her hair. She was a vision of cuteness and innocence and Soul was not nearly drunk enough to deal with it.

“Come on, you’re one of the Queen’s dogs,” Maka told her corgi puppy seriously. “Can’t you even beg?”

Soul grunted to get her attention. “We’re back. Where’s your old man?”

Maka looked back and rolled her eyes at Black*Star, who had fallen asleep standing up. “Not here. Did you guys drink? Augh, I hope Black*Star doesn’t throw up in my room again. I swear, he did that out of spite.”

“Yeah, I did,” Black*Star stirred, as if summoned by the Alcohol Gods themselves. “And it. Was. Hilarious.” Karma was a bitch, however, and he suddenly pushed away from Soul to run to the downstairs bathroom.

Maka smiled pleasantly when her brother started violently retching. “This is what you get for drinking underage.”

Soul grunted again and flopped down next to her on the couch. The drinking had only started after The Saddest Handjob because he just wanted to erase it from his memory. People were going to talk on Monday at school and his cool factor had definitely disintegrated. The only person who didn’t care about things like that was Maka. She knew what a loser nerd he really was and she still liked him. But now the rest of the world was going to know that his apathetic facade was just that— a facade to hide that he clearly had some deep seeded issues.

“What’s up? Do you feel sick?” she asked. Maka put the puppy down and patted her lap. “Here, come lie down. I can’t deal with two vomiting idiots.”

He really shouldn’t, Soul thought. He really, really shouldn’t.

But he did, because he was so weak and it always felt so good to be close to Maka. She was warm and smelled good and her hands were strong and calloused from lacrosse but always touched him so gently. Everything about her was so familiar and safe and exciting and gave him disgusting little butterflies in his stomach. Her touch made him feel good again after his night of debauchery and Soul decided her lap was his new home and he was never leaving.

“Really, you shouldn’t drink so much,” Maka’s hands stroked his hair, sliding down to rub his neck and back. Soul rumbled contently. “Don’t let Black*Star talk you into nonsense.”

Soul tilted his head to look up at her. He blearily wondered if her cheek was as soft as it looked. He had to test it for scientific purposes. “C’mere.”

Maka smiled. “What?”

“Just come.”

She sighed dramatically but lowered her head closer to him. “Yes?”

Soul pressed his lips to her cheek, letting it linger. This was a completely platonic kiss, Soul reassured himself. Like a kiss a brother would give his sister and definitely not like a guy would give a girl that he was totally head over heels for. He would only ever kiss her cheek this one time. Just once and never again.

Maka pulled away, her face bright red. She looked confused but then smiled brilliantly, ruffling his hair and berating him gently for drinking too much. Her puppy hopped back on the couch and made himself very comfortable on Soul’s stomach. Everything felt warm and Soul slowly started to drift.

He closed his eyes and tried not to dwell on how one simple cheek kiss had aroused him more than that handjob ever could.

—

Black*Star had been surprisingly cool about The Saddest Handjob— apparently Black*Star nearly put out a girl’s eye during his first sexual encounter and honestly Soul could have gone his entire life never knowing the details of  that— and told him not to worry about it and to let his bro take care of everything.

Someday, Soul thought as he sat across from Harvar at the cafe, he was really going to have to stop trusting Black*Star.

“So…” Soul started. “What’s going on here?”

Harvar shrugged. “I just got a text from Black*Star. Apparently, this is a date.”

Soul stared. “A date with  _who_?”

“You and I.”

Soul started laughing but Harvar looked, as per usual, dead serious. He sobered up quickly. “Dude.”

“Don’t worry,” Harvar said. “You’re not my type.”

—

“Pack a bag,” Soul told Maka. “Overnight. Bring a bathing suit. Bring the dog. Just do it quickly before Black*Star finds me.”

Maka flailed a little. She liked planning and lists and it looked like she had so many questions but Soul really needed to get the hell out of there before Black*Star tried to set him up with every person in their year. “But—?”

“Don’t tell your brother. Get your stuff and meet me in your driveway in fifteen minutes.”

“Soul—?”

Half an hour later, puppy safely strapped in the backseat of Wes’ “borrowed” car, Soul and Maka were on their way to his parent’s house on the coast. He felt like he could breathe a little easier outside of the city and it was nice to have Maka by his side. She wore a short white sundress and he could see the straps of her bikini peeking through and her hair had long fallen out of her pigtails from sticking her head out the window to enjoy the ocean air.

He noticed how the thin sundress showcased her long legs and slim ankles and sharp collarbones all platonically, of course, because they were just friends and he didn’t kidnap her for the night for anything nefarious.

It wasn’t often that they spent time together without Black*Star these days so this beach escape was just what Soul needed. As much as he loved his best friend, some distance would make Soul’s heart grow fonder. They walked along the shore for hours, Maka carrying the puppy in a tote bag over one shoulder, her other hand alternative between holding Soul’s arm or lacing her fingers with his.

Platonically. They held hands platonically. There was absolutely nothing unplatonic about how his heart raced when her fingers stroked the palm of his hand or when the skirt of her sundress fluttered around her bare thighs. The tightness in his throat when she smiled at him just so was strictly friendly. Good friends, they were very good friends.

The whole “totally platonic, oh she’s like a little sister to me” thing went to shit pretty quickly when they snuggled together on the couch in his parents’ living room. It was starting to get cold but Maka and Soul had been too tired to get up and change into something warmer. The only logical choice had been to share a blanket on the couch and huddle together for warmth.

Maka had wormed her way under Soul’s arm, which he then slung around her shoulder. She tucked herself neatly under his chin and Soul could smell her shampoo and sunscreen. Traitorous fingers stroked nonsensical patterns into the bare skin of her neck and arm, unable to resist the temptation of her soft skin. Soul could feel a trail of goosebumps rise under his fingers and he knew he was a goner.

She shifted in his hold and kissed his cheek, the barest of brushes, over as quickly as it started. Maka looked up at him shyly, almost guiltily, trying to gauge his reaction. Soul threaded his fingers in his hair and pulled her to him gently. He would have been content just to hold her like this  _finally_ , after denying himself for so long, but Maka had other ideas.

His childhood friend and the sister of his best friend climbed into his lap and put her hands on around his neck. Her exploration of his face with her lips was slow and soft, teasingly bypassing his lips to plant kisses along the bridge of nose and cheek. Maka put her mouth to his ear and whispered that she really liked him,  _like_ -liked him, and that she hoped that he was okay with that.

Soul was a terrible best friend and Black Star was definitely going to hate him forever but that was a risk he was willing to take.

He finally felt the elusive  _it_ when Maka finally bestowed a kiss on his lips. The kisses were clumsy and closed mouthed, all tiny pecks as if warming up before the big event. Soul shivered delightfully when they finally found a rhythm for longer kisses, equally as gentle but wet and open mouthed, punctuated with tiny bites and swipes of tongue. He wanted to cheer or maybe sob in relief that he could feel  _something_ and Maka was so perfect and good that he was humbled that someone like her could want someone like him.

Maka broke away to press a line of kisses to his throat. He made a strangled noise and she giggled against his skin. “Soul, your skin is really soft,” Maka marveled, “and it tastes salty like the ocean.”

“Maka,” Soul said lowly. She could definitely feel how much her words and kisses had affected him, even if she was politely ignoring the evidence that was currently pressing against her thigh. “I— didn’t bring you here for this,” he said thickly.

“I know,” she said. “You’re not like that. I trust you.”

She sunk her teeth into the soft juncture between shoulder and neck and Soul groaned. Black*Star was definitely going to kill him and he was definitely not going to go to heaven. At least he was getting his little piece of heaven now in the form of Maka in his lap, kissing every inch of neck, throat, and jaw she could reach. It was fine if he died, Soul decided, because at least he would die happy.

Mischievous fingers slid under his shirt and dragged against his skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Maka occupied herself with stroking her fingers along the thin line of hair on his sensitive lower stomach and traveling towards his hipbones. Soul muffled any and all unmanly noises against her shoulder, kissing the skin and biting at it gently, so gently, not wanting to leave a mark or hurt her.

They both paused when Maka stopped at his belt. “Can I?”

The moment of truth. Soul sincerely hoped this wouldn’t be the sequel to The Saddest Handjob. He didn’t think he could handle the humiliation twice. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. If that’s okay with you?”

Soul grinned and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah. I trust you.”

—

“Rock, paper, scissors over who’s going to tell Black*Star?” Maka asked sometime later. They were both still cuddled on the couch, Soul wearing just his boxers and Maka completely naked under the blanket. He was happy to report that even though his second ever handjob had been awkward and he had to— uh—  _help things along_ , it had felt entirely too good and he came in exactly a minute like the loser he was. Luckily, Maka just thought that was a reflection of her skills and was very pleased with herself.

“Ugh. Not it?” Soul tried.

“You’re so it.”

“Damn,” he sighed. “Well, it was nice knowing you. At least I got to third base before being brutally murdered.”

Maka patted his cheek lightly. “I’ll say nice things at your funeral. Like how good you are with your hands.”

Soul blushed and swatted her hand away.. “Black*Star will bring me back from the dead just to kill me again.”

“But it was worth it, right?”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles lightly. “You have no idea.”


	16. Like A Wrecking Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smuuuuuut.

“… ‘S your brother here?” **  
**

It was innocent enough.

Maybe if he hadn’t been lounging on her and maybe if his head hadn’t been nestled against her thighs she would’ve thought nothing of it. And even in itself, Soul snoozing on her legs wasn’t anything inherently sexual or suggestive — he usually made himself quite cozy on her lap and tended to gravitate towards her legs in general. He’d slept against her hundreds of times while she studied and she thought nothing of it. Soul was oddly cuddly and she had no problem with it, because she liked it when he reached out to her and did things for him and not entirely for her… not that she minded it when his scruffy cheek brushed against her.

No, it wasn’t his position that gave his intentions away. It was the lazy, heated look he was giving her. It was scalding red eyes boring fiery holes into her very soul and the way his hair tickled her skin. His cheek brushed against her thigh, fingers tracing circles into her flesh and he raised his glance to her eyes.

Maka pinked and lowered her book. “I don’t think so… he should be out with Liz?”

She watched as he licked his lips, eyes following his tongue as if she were magnetized to the motion. She remained glued to him as he sat himself up and scooted down to the end of her tiny twin bed, kneeling before her feet and taking her right ankle into his hand.

Soul pursed his lips and set her with a quiet stare, a silent question, and Maka reached for her bookmark.

When her book was tucked safely against the corner of her bed and out of the way, he lifted her right leg, brought it closer to him and pressed a kiss to her ankle. His mouth was tender and gentle, lips careful of the sharpness that lay buried behind them. He grazed kisses down further, trailing the curve of calve and leaving a blistering heat in his wake.

He was the definition of doting, peppering touches and lovelorn kisses while sending her scalding looks, staring at her like she was absolute necessity and setting parts of her ablaze that she hadn’t thought possible. She wondered why it felt like so much more now; it wasn’t the first time he’d touched her and wasn’t the first time he’d pressed his mouth against her legs or dragged his tongue along the crease of her thighs. It wasn’t even the first time they’d been intimate — but it was the first time he’d been so meticulous and slow with his appreciation, was the first time he’d dragged his tongue along the back of her calve and suckled gently at the tender flesh beneath her knee.

Breath caught, she grasped at her comforter and sat straighter. Soul flicked his tongue against the crease of her knee and she was flushed with a damp heat. Everywhere his mouth brushed against was heated, damp and she was eager, too eager, and she thanked her lucky stars that Black Star was very far away, because Soul’s mouth was heavensent. Her toes curled and she whimpered, unable to keep herself fully at bay and quiet.

She felt his mouth pull into a smile against her skin, in the depression beneath the joint of her knee and he lipped her name.

“Popliteal fossa,” she felt herself breath mindlessly; when he quirked a brow and slid his mouth from her skin, she pouted and clenched her comforter in her hands. “… Is what that area’s called. Popliteal fossa.”

His breath came out in quick succession as he laughed. “I’ve just always called it the kneepit?” He murmured and she paid too much attention to the way his tone dipped. It sent pinpricks of heat to her stomach, made her face burn and she pursed her lips. “But sure, thanks for the anatomy lesson.”

“I just—”

Sharp, sharp teeth brushed against the sensitive flesh and he nibbled lightly. Words became mush and she groaned breathlessly. His lips twitched and she felt him dig down a little more, just enough to leave marks behind when he pulled away and kissed the area gently.

“You think too much,” he mumbled. His mouth was still against her and it was driving her mad slowly, slowly; he was painstakingly slow with his motions, careful and delicate with his kisses and brushes of his tongue but still all sharp teeth and bite.

When he explored further and his mouth met her thigh, she gasped. He scooted, pushed her leg over his shoulder and traced down her skin with the pads of his fingers. Everywhere he touched left a trail of heat — and when his tongue dragged up the height of her leg and brushed his teeth against her inner thigh, she moaned his name and crumbled onto her pillows. He kissed the area and then nibbled further up, higher and higher, until she could see nothing but a head of white hair tucked comfortably against her center.

“Soul—” She panted.

“Mmh?”

His mouth was busy — very busy, gloriously busy nibbling and suckling on the apex of her thighs and it was hard to focus on anything but the delicious pricking of his teeth. His moans filled her with a heavy tension, one that dropped to her abdomen and burnt like wildfire.

“S—Soul,” she mewled. “I can — you don’t have to?”

Sluggishly, he peeked up at her. He seemed quite content where he was, with her legs over his shoulders and hunger seering in his eyes. “But I want to,” he murmured huskily. She quivered and forced a breath through her lips. His brows furrowed. “… Can I?”

Would it be rude of her to ask? She wanted nothing more than for him to strip her of her sensible cotton panties, bury his face against her and lick her until she couldn’t see straight. Her legs felt boneless. They were helpless, useless limbs hanging over his shoulders and when she didn’t answer him right away, he turned his neck just enough to press a kiss and nuzzle against her inner thigh.

“Makaaa,” he sighed.

She jerked her head into a feeble nod. He licked his lips again and practically dove between her legs.

Soul managed to wriggle her panties off and tug them down her legs with only minor struggling. He practically flung them across her room — she didn’t have the chance to see where they landed, because he nestled himself back between her legs and gave her one long, lengthy lick and his name burst from her lips. It earned her a noisy groan and then he was back at it, and all she knew was his tongue and the feel of him moaning against her.

He was so noisy — louder than her, even, and when she whimpered and curled off of the bed, one of his hands moved to press his palm down against her stomach. He anchored her down with one hand and slid tantalizingly long fingers against her center with the other, slow and teasing.

She sobbed his name and he slid a digit into her heat. When he curled his finger and she gasped, he groaned again and suckled.

“I can’t—- ooof, ohhmygod,” she garbled incoherently, and when his tongue met with her again, she writhed and her chest burned, every part of her tingling and she linked her legs around his neck. He groused against her and she felt it against her, vibrating against her and then his hair was tickling her thighs. “I can’t— Soouuul, please. Please?”

She was practically drooling when he finally added another finger. Her hands were in his hair and tugging him against her, tugging and yanking and pulling, and she heard him slide against her blankets. Her bed squeaked when he mashed his hips against her mattress and ground himself there. The tightness was coiling around her and she couldn’t handle it much longer, and if he kept going at the pace he was then she was sure she’d come undone in moments.

Everything came in vibrant, heated waves, and then Maka was drowning; she gasped and breathed, whimpered Soul’s name hoarse and he rode her out. His hand held her down and kept her grounded, and when it was over and the stars blurred, his fingers dragged down the plain of her stomach and she felt him exhale.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and heaved another breath. She was still catching her breath and felt as though she was floating, but she could tell he was still bothered — he was noisy but not as noisy as he could’ve been, so she knew he hadn’t reached the same finish she had.

“… You didn’t,” she murmured breathlessly.

He held his mouth together tightly. “It’s cool. You did.”

There was a pull in her chest. Leave it to Soul to settle for getting her off and not asking for anything in return. She could read the hunger in his eyes like a map.

She hastily pulled her shirt over her head and flung it away. When she unclipped her bra and set it more neatly against her bed, he swallowed thickly and she reached a hand out to him. His shoulders were still heaving when he quirked a brow at her.

“Take off your pants.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He was not graceful with his undressing, all shuffling with his belt and trying to work his zipper down. He looked like a bashful, overeager puppy and she couldn’t help but giggle. He burnt pink and shucked his boxers down in one go, and then he was hovering over her again, muttering her name and “Are you sure? Is this okay?”

She was enthralled by the feel of his skin under hers. Her skirt was still pushed up and pooled around her hips and Soul still had his socks on, but she didn’t care and pushed her fingers through the hair along the back of her neck.

The way his hair fell over his eyes when he leaned over her rekindled her simmering heat — there was a delightful bob of his adam’s apple and his jaw set and she finally, finally felt his hardness brushing against her thigh, secure and twitching with an intimate familiarity that drove her to glue her mouth to the curve of his shoulder. She bit and nibbled, fingers curling around the dampness along the nape of his neck and he let out a strangled groan, followed by a string of “fuck, fuck,” and he slid around before finally finding his way home.

She could hear nothing but her own blood pumping and Soul’s thunderous panting. The spaces between his breath and her gasps were filled with the squeaking of her mattress, the shifting of her comforter beneath Soul’s knees and the sound of Maka’s walls crumbling in.

_“STOP THE FORNICATION, SINNERS!!”_

Soul lurched and twitched inside of her; Maka screamed.

“Do I want to look,” she grit out. Soul shook his head no and she turned her head anyway.

There stood Black Star, overprotective and overzealous brother extraordinaire, wearing his favorite pair of steel-toed boots in a pile of broken drywall and dislodged picture frames. Her wall had been shattered — it hadn’t been a booming, passionate throbbing noise of great sex and orgasmic, cosmic pleasure. Her stupid, stupid brother had actually kicked in her wall, and he stood there with his fists clenched and nose flared.

He pointed a shaking finger at them, positively vexed. “Heathens! Soul, you get your nasty ass dick out of my little sister RIGHT NOW. Get right with the lord!”

“I—”

Maka jerked her hips and Soul squawked. His arms quivered and she reattached her mouth to his neck. It had to be a dream. Maybe if she kept going and pretended her brother wasn’t there it would all go away?

“Maka,  _fuck_ — Star, just, can you—? I’m busy?”

“No,” he darkened. “I can’t.  _You_  can’t. No playing peekaboo, you sisterfucker. Let’s roll.”

Maka shrieked. “Oh my god, get out of my room? I — YOU BROKE MY WALL. I NEED  _MY WALL_??”

Black Star, destroyer of walls and keeper of Soul’s blue balls, marched his way over, ripped his best friend off of her (they both yelped) and actually dragged him through the door. He ignored Maka as she screamed after him and draped her blankets over her like a cape. He also ignored the blatant hole in the wall that now connected her room to the bathroom.


	17. Hummingbird Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #drunk smut writing

“MAKA, DO YOU WANT A TACO?”

She nearly knocked Soul out with her knee.

He grunted and fidgeted, evened her out with a firm palm to her stomach as her hips gave way and she jerked violently. Her eyes were blown wide when she shot up to sit, staring at her door as she wondered what she did in her life to deserve her brother’s tendency to interrupt every time Soul even thought about her no-no zones.

She panted and brushed her fingers through her hair. Soul pressed a slow smile into the crease of her thigh and whispered frustrating sweet nothings into her skin.

“I thought you were out with Kilik!”

Black Star laughed. “I AM. We’re getting snackage and I thought of you. What do you want? We could get Dorito tacos. DO YOU WANT A DORITO TACO?”

Soul snorted. “I’m set on tacos.”

She hissed and aimed a slap to his head. He nibbled at her skin and smirked gradually, like maybe he didn’t care that her brother was in a five mile radius of her pantless self and that he’d rather just ignore his hollering and return back to his rightful place between her legs. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased with his bout of stubbornness or not – on one hand, the tongue stroking along her trembling, heated skin was enticing and exciting, but it was hard to be aroused with a clear conscience when her brother was beating on her door and demanding she tell him her preference of faux Mexican fast food.

He nibbled and suckled noisily. Maka threw her head back into her pillows and prayed that Black Star would grow bored of pestering her for her taco preferences. She let out a moan accidentally, regrettably, and Soul groaned into her flesh.

A hazy, lusty contentment lulled in his eyes and she pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound of her whimper.

Her brother lingered outside her door. She heard the sound of the floor squeaking as he shifted his weight and slammed his fist on her door again. “Are you okay? You sound like you’re hurt. You didn’t try to kick down my wall again, did you?”

Soul raised a brow at her. She refused to feel guilty about the one – and only – time she tried to return the favor and breach Black Star’s privacy.

“No,” she gasped. “I’m… I’m doing yoga.”

“Sounds like intense yoga,” he snorted.

There was a tongue between her legs. Maka really didn’t think she should be held accountable or responsible for any excuses she came up with off the top of her head. It wasn’t like she was calm and collected – she was grasping her sheets and trying to glue her lips together so her brother didn’t hear any grunts or cries of his best friend’s name.

“Whateeever, do you want anything or not?”

She wanted a lot of things. She wanted him to go far, far away – like maybe to Kilik or Liz’s house for the night – so she could truly emote and let Soul know just how much she liked the way his tongue caressed and stroked without fearing that her desk might get flipped in a fit of brotherly rage.

Soul made eye contact with her while he circled his tongue around her clit and pressed his fingers into the flush of her thighs. She stuttered, heaved a messy breath and gasped “yes,” into the fluff of her pillow.

“Atta girl!” Black Star chortled as Maka threaded her fingers through her boyfriend’s hair. “What kind?”

“Anything,” she puffed, because Soul was murmuring nonsense and everything into her skin as his tongue worked and caressed her heat and she wasn’t paying attention to anything else, nothing but Soul’s eyes lighting her ablaze and the coiling, burning fever that sat low, low in her belly.

“DORITO TACO IT IS. You thirsty? Want anything to drink?”

Her hips rolled and oh, she was  _parched._

“ _Please_ ,” she rasped. “Yes.  _Sure._  Anything.”

“Waaaater? Soda? Booze?”

Maka grasped desperately at her blankets and accidentally knocked her old teddy bear off of the bed. It flopped onto the floor and she paid it no attention. Soul quirked a brow but didn’t say anything.

“Maka?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” she swore. “ _Water,_ just – go  _away,_ Black Star!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist! Just trying to keep you fed, pigtails. Gotta keep that big brain of yours nourished,” Black Star cackled, and Maka might’ve considered firing back a snarky comment – maybe that she _wasn’t wearing panties at all_  and it was all thanks to _his_  best friend, whose head was nestled between her thighs and  _licking her senseless_  – but she was too busy being happy that he was galloping away to do anything more than throw her head back and whimper.

She moaned her hate for her (stupid, stubborn, devious) boyfriend as he grinned into her skin and nibbled delicately at the apex of her thighs before diverging back to her center, tongue firm along her slit. He didn’t have the good grace to keep his hands off of her while Black Star vacated the premise and revved up the engine of his truck – he was already sliding pianist fingers against her center before she’d even heard the screen door slam shut.

“You are the worst,” she gasped. He huffed a laugh and her toes spread and curled. “Don’t – do you want to get caught? Do you have a death wish or something?!”

He flickered his glance back to her and his eyes scorched, burned her with a devilish conviction that had the tendrils of heat in the pit of her stomach braiding and weaving, tightertightertighter, until he murmured her name too dangerously low for the throbbing of her heart. He grinned.

“You’re so  _wet_ ,” he hummed. His voice was dark with a hunger that had her reeling. “Did you really want me to stop?”

“It’s hard to hold a conversation when you’re doing that,” she hissed.

“What?” he groused, curling his fingers and she moaned openly, unable to stop herself. “ _Licking_  you?”

“Don’t be gross!”

“I missed you this week,” he muttered. His breath was balmy, inspiring. “Missed this. Missed your moans and your–”

“ _Don’t_.”

His brows raised slyly, grin slanting. Maka could hear her blood pumping in her ears, an erratic crescendo that made her think madness was real and palpable because she could feel the heat emanating from her face like rays of daylight peeking in through a cracked window.

And Soul was lurking lower and lower, murmuring “ _Makaaaa_ ,” and allowing the puff of his breath to burst against her, raw and stifling. She writhed, painfully, desperately, and quirked her thigh just enough to urge him back to his home, where he belonged.

He dipped dutifully and pressed a kiss languidly against her. “Nothing gross about this,” he whispered. “Let  _go_ , Maka.”

His voice always had been her undoing.

Her gasp tore through her and echoed through him; she could see his brows twitch and hips jerk in wake of the aftershock of her voice, and the hand that wasn’t fondling and curling against her aching core trailed from its place on her thigh down and under the budge of his hips, and Maka threaded her fingers through his hair and gave a hearty tug. Soul groaned, coarse and rough, and she pulled again and again as his shoulder lurched.

“Soul, are you–?”

He groaned again, louder, and it was all the answer she needed. She was so close to glory and he was touching himself, actually stroking himself because he was so enthralled with where he was in life. His brows trembled and the flat of his tongue pressed against her clit as his fingers curled and she slammed a hand down onto her mattress, gave a shout and that was it, she was gone.

x

“Can I have a bite?”

She squinted at him as he came from his hiding place in her closet. Stumpy wiggled and scampered over to him and launched himself into Soul’s knees.

“No,” she pouted. “You had your fun. These are my tacos.”

He snorted, collected her dog into his arms and slumped down next to her on her bed. He wore nothing more than his boxers and intense sex hair and it was attractive to her in ways that were frustrating and illegal. She didn’t think she looked half as attractive as he did, with her hair in haphazard pigtails and a night shirt with nothing under it.

“I like tacos,” he grinned, leaning over and pressing a noisy smooch to her cheek. “Doesn’t matter if I already ate. Still hungry.”

She gasped and slapped his arm. “ _GROSS!_ ”

“But I’m _still_ hungry,” he said innocently. She couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him and kick him off the bed when he had her sweet darling angel nestled in his lap and pressing puppy kisses to his cheek. “I could go for seconds. Or maybe a cool ranch Dorito taco. For your  _cool_ boyfriend.”

“You are the biggest loser I have ever met.”

He stuffed her corgi at her face and simultaneously melted her chagrin and managed to steal three bites of her taco and her entire water bottle.


	18. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by rokkasen!

The weekend before they graduated was supposed to be magical.

Maka and Soul had planned a nice, quiet weekend at his family’s house on the shore without any outside interference from meddling brothers, nosy parents, and aggressively adorable dogs.

“SHE WAS THE ONLY GIRL I EVER LOOOOOVED,” Black*Star threw himself down on the couch and sobbed– full body sobbing– while Soul patted his back awkwardly and looked at Maka in horror. “AND SHE JUST DUMPED ME! DUMPED M.E.! THE GREAT ME! TSUBAKIIIII.”

The weekend before they graduated was most definitely ruined and not for the first time, Maka wished that she was an only child.

Maka sighed. “Will you stop crying if we take you with us to the coast?”

A pathetic sniffle. “Can I drive?”

She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”

“And I get the master bedroom?”

“Black*Star, I swear to God–”

His lower lip trembled dangerously and Soul panicked. “Dude, fine. Whatever you want. Just stop– stop crying it’s weirding me out.”

Black*Star wiped his face with the back of his hand. “And no gross kissy face between you two?”

Soul physically had to restrain his girlfriend from punching her already crying brother in the face. “I make no promises.”

Maka grumbled as Black*Star oh so sadly packed his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he planned this whole thing.

No, Maka decided as she threw her sexy underwear out of her bag and replaced it with sensible, cotton panties, he was much too stupid to come up with such an ingenious plan.

—

The beach was beautiful, the sky bright, the water warm, but Maka was not feeling very romantic with Black*Star nestled between her and Soul on the couch. Every so often, he would burst into tears because the color of the curtains reminded him of Tsubaki’s eyes or because he saw a kitten on the internet that Tsubaki would have loved.

“Maybe this is karma because you’re gross and slept with every girl in our grade,” Maka scowled. “Tsubaki made the right choice. Maybe she’ll date a guy who doesn’t pick his teeth at the table with a dollar bill.”

Black*Star wailed and Soul threw Maka a look. She should have known he would have his “bro’s” side. Stupid guys. “Dude, no, come on. You’ll be okay.”

“SHE HAD THE BEST TITS IN THE ENTIRE SCHOOL!” Black*Star cried. “GIANT TITS TO GO WITH HER GIANT HEART!”

“I hope you die alone,” Maka hissed, “you unrepentant pervert.”

“Maka!” Soul yelled over Black*Star’s dramatics. “Not helping.”

Maka rolled her eyes and started texting her brother’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t take one more second of his crying and interfering with her smooch time with Soul. This was her last chance to spend time alone with her boyfriend and she wasn’t going to risk it being ruined by her stupid brother.

And maybe Maka worried, just a little, because she didn’t like seeing Black*Star like this.

“Hold me, Soul,” Black*Star whimpered.

“Get a hold of Tsubaki quickly please,” Soul whispered out of the side of his mouth, “before he tries to make me his next girlfriend.”

—

“Break up?” Tsubaki asked some hours later when she arrived. Black*Star did a complete 180 from his previous tears and stood in the corner doing pushups, pretending not to care that she was around. “Who broke up?”

“… you and Black*Star?” Maka asked.

Tsubaki shook her head. “We didn’t break up. We only had a small fight over where we were going for lunch. That’s hardly a reason to break up!”

Maka stared. “Are you telling me that my weekend was ruined because Black*Star threw a hissy fit over not getting to go to freaken’ Pizza Hut?!”

Soul and Maka looked over at Black*Star. Black*Star shrugged.

“Shit happens, right?” he asked. “I knew Tsubaki would never leave a God like me! HAHAHAHA!”

“… let’s kill him,” Maka suggested.

Soul cracked his knuckles. “They’ll never find his body in the ocean.”


	19. Window Frames You Like A Monet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is allll rokkasen!

Soul came home from hanging out with Black*Star and the rest of the guys only to find his best friend’s sister lying in his bed, reading a thick book, wearing nothing but a too big sweater and some thigh high wool socks.

He was not naive. Soul had been on the internet. Plenty of pornography with “just barely 18 year olds” started this way– young, nubile blondes in barely there clothes just waiting for the main character to come home– but this was not a fantasy. This was real life.  _His_ life. And honestly, he just did not have the bandwidth to deal with a pretty girl– the girl he had secretly harbored a crush on for years– half naked in his bed.

Maka had often climbed through his window when they were young, claiming that he had a better mattress and that she couldn’t concentrate on studying with Spirit and Black*Star carrying on and that had been fine when he was ten and preferred Mozart to girls. But now Soul was a gross sixteen year old with sixteen year old hormones and he most definitely preferred the girl sprawled out on his pillows to crusty, old, dead musicians.

It would have been great if Jesus had chosen this moment to take the wheel on Soul’s life and saved him from imminent embarrassment and shameful boners but so far, no divine intervention. Soul steeled himself as he slowly took off his jacket and prayed that his voice wouldn’t crack like puberty 2.0.

“Maka,” he said slowly, “where are your pants?”

She blinked. “What? Why would I wear pants?”

Soul looked up at the ceiling and counted backwards from ten. God, give him strength. “It’s the dead of winter. Please don’t tell me you scaled my three story house in no pants.”

Maka laughed. “No way! I took them off once I got here.”

“Great,” Soul’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He truly did not need the mental image of Maka Albarn stripping down to her boring yet oddly enticing panties in his room and then crawling into his bed, what the fuck. “That is just so good to know.”

She patted the pillow next to her as an invitation for him to join her and it did something very unholy inside of his pants. Soul cursed his traitorous, disgusting teenage body. The logical part of him knew that he should tell her to leave and that pantsless sleepovers were a thing of the past. The weaker part of him– the part that would inevitably win out– was much too tempted to spend the night being spooned by the object of his affection.

Soul smartly wore his jeans to bed in hopes that they would be a protective barrier against Maka and his inevitable morning wood and curled up on his side. Maka slid an arm around his waist and Soul chuckled darkly to himself.

He was positively fucked.

—

The next morning, Soul made the executive decision to lock his bedroom window.

No more nightly visits, no more cuddling with someone who was off limits, no more smooth, long legs curling around his. No more shameful masturbation sessions to tiny gym shorts, no more pining after his best friend’s younger sister, no more embarrassing the hell out of himself. It had to end and Soul knew that he was doing them all a favor. They had to grow up sometime and Maka would understand, someday, when she realized that his intentions were less than pure.

Even though he wasn’t Catholic, Soul offered a few hail Marys at breakfast to repent for his earlier sins. Just to make sure some God heard him and all of his bases were covered, he texted Ox for a Hebrew prayer– any Hebrew prayer– because if Christian God was too busy to listen to him, maybe Jewish God would take pity on him.

Maka stormed over to him after first period and Soul cursed himself for not asking Tsubaki about the intricacies of Buddhism and Shintoism. He could have really used some more gods on his side.

“You locked your window.” Her voice was low and so full of hurt that Soul wanted to do a complete 180 and nix his entire plan. He had very few weaknesses but an upset Maka Albarn was right up there with vintage pianos and instagram filters. “Why?”

“Because,” Soul tried to look entirely disinterested and instead focused on the clock above Maka’s head so he wouldn’t have to look her in the face, “it’s not cool for you to be climbing into my window. It’s…” Soul faltered as Maka’s lower lip trembled slightly. “… dangerous.”

Maka’s mouth formed a little “oh!” in surprise. “Because of the ice? You’re probably right. I’ll come in through the garage next time.”

“… okay,” Soul conceded because he was fucking pathetic and because he really, really secretly loved sleeping in the same bed as her. “But you have to wear pants. It’s weird.”

“Okay!” Maka said brightly. “I feel much better now. I thought you hated me.”

“If only,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

Soul laughed at his own patheticness. “Nothing. See you later.”

His thoughts whirled, most of them involving a pantsless Maka who might not hate an equally pantless Soul.

No amount of prayer was going to save his filthy soul now. Might as well enjoy the slow descent into hell.

—

For someone who had been so insistent on Maka wearing pants, all Soul could think about was taking them off of her.

Her pants, if one could call them that, were nothing but a pathetic scrap of material that she swore were workout shorts that must have been stitched by Satan himself. Even those did nothing to quell his desire to have her half naked in his bed and he really and truly hated himself for being a shitty friend and all around terrible person.

“Soul. Sooooul. Soul, Soul, Soul,” Maka’s voice was muffled against his neck and he shivered when her lips brushed his pulse point. “You’re not listening to me.”

Soul grunted. Damn Maka and her innocence. She had no idea of his inner turmoil, that little brat. Running around with those legs and no pants. It just wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she just be another girl and not Black*Star’s little sister? Why did she have to be so pretty? Why did she have to have a penchant for sleeping in his bed?

“Soooooul,” she climbed on top of him and sat on his stomach, effectively pinning him down. Her thighs were on either side of him, so close and yet so far. Fuck his life. “Listen to me!”

“Get off,” Soul said grumpily and so half heartedly that he couldn’t even convince himself that he truly wanted her gone. He kept screaming, BLACK*STAR’S LITTLE SISTER, DO NOT TOUCH, OFF LIMITS in his head but he could feel the heat of her body dangerously close to his lap and Soul was too busy concentrating on not sporting a very obvious boner underneath Maka to do anything other than lay there and pray for his life to end.

“Are you mad at me? You’re avoiding me… I don’t like it,” Maka pouted. “Is it because I said Wes had nice hair?”

“No,” Soul sighed. “… but not nicer than mine, right?”

“Soul!”

“Ugh, just sleep, Maka. I’m not mad. Just sleep.”

“Can’t sleep if you’re mad at me.”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling. She was so cute and literally on top of him and all he wanted to do was kiss her but Black*Star–

But Black*Star.

But fuck Black*Star, Soul thought furiously. Black*Star had ruined enough events and clothes and bikes in Soul’s life. Black*Star owed him. This would be a fair trade, Soul reasoned with himself. Black*Star couldn’t even get mad. Did Soul get mad at him when he drove his go cart into a lake? Did Soul get mad when Black*Star tried to hook him up with the pregnant girl from sophomore year? No! They were still friends. Forgive and forget.

While Soul monologued how, exactly, he would talk his volatile friend out of murder, Maka took it upon herself to lean down and kiss him gently.

His brain positively short wired, all sparks and smoke and relief because finally, finally one of them had made a move.

“If Black*Star asks, you started it,” Soul said and pulled her down for another kiss. “Maybe he’ll only maim me and not kill me.”

“Don’t talk about my brother with your hand on my thigh.”

“But–”

“Shut up,” Maka took his hand and slid them to the tie on her shorts, “and kiss me.”

Maybe all those prayers worked after all.


	20. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by rokkasen for my birthday, part 1! :')

The camping trip, Maka decides, is the perfect time to make her move.

Black*Star will be too busy trying to sneak into the tents of every person with a pulse to notice her cozying up to his best friend. They are parked in the middle of the wilderness, so interference from her father or Blair or Soul’s brother would be minimal. Soul normally ran cold and Maka ran hot and nights in the woods were freezing, so she predicts a  _lot_ of snuggling and body heat sharing in her future.

Maka cheerfully puts up her tent, whistling a jaunty little tune.

Nothing, especially her stupid brother, is going to get in her way.

_Not this time._

“Who invited all these other dudes?” Black*Star complains  as Maka ties a pole together tightly. Soul is helping handing her tools and providing snarky commentary because he might be a world class pianist but he is all thumbs when it comes to putting things together. “Total sausage-fest. It’s not even Grade-A sausage. It’s fucking fast food sausage. These dicks are harshing my vibe.”

Soul rolls his eyes. “I doubt that Kilik, Ox, and Harvar are here to ‘harsh your vibe’, dude. Harvar doesn’t even  _like_ girls like that.”

Black*Star’s grin is positively feral. “Speaking of sausage eaters–”

“Don’t,” Soul warns.

“– let’s just say he ain’t a vegetarian. And he knows Grade-A, top choice meat.”

“File that under things I  _never needed to know,_ ” Soul sighs and Maka can’t help but agree; she has zero desire to ever know about her brother’s sordid sex life. All she can feel is pity for poor Harvar, who is probably scarred for life. “Pretty sure he calls you ‘The Biggest Regret of 2012’. I wouldn’t brag about it, if I was you.”

Black*Star laughs obnoxiously, undaunted by the insult. “Hey, do you think he’d share a tent with Maka? At least then I won’t have to worry about some loser trying to get into her days of the week panties.”

“Hey!” Maka shouts. “First off, they are NOT days of the week! They are very respectable animal print lace, okay?” Soul chokes. “Secondly, I can take care of myself. I’m a black belt, remember? And these are our friends. No one’s going to try anything. God, Black*Star. Can you just be normal for  _one_ night?”

He only shrugs. Clearly, normal is not in his genetics. “Fine, if not Harvar, then Soul. He’s the only one I can trust not to try and stick his dick in you. My best bro.”

His best friend immediately pinks, stammering out something that sounds like deep denial. Maka interrupts his babbling because  _her golden chance has come_ and she’s not about to let Soul’s shyness ruin it _._ “Fine! If it’ll shut you up. We’ve had plenty of sleepovers. Not a big deal.”

Black*Star is placated with his “genius plan” and wanders off in search of the elusive untapped booty.

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Maka says wryly.

“Yeah.” Soul sticks his hands in his pockets, his blush traveling to the top of his sweatshirt. His eyes dart away nervously. “We don’t  _have_ to share a tent, if you don’t want.”

“But I want to. Don’t you?”

He clears his throat, blush deepening. Maka might not be a master at romance but she is a great science student and the chemistry between the two is unmistakable. The second-too-long hugs, the longing stares when Soul doesn’t think she’s looking, hand brushes– it all adds up. Maka likes Soul. Soul likes Maka.

However, Black*Star is an unnecessary element that is ruining  _everything_.

It’s not that she doesn’t love her big brother because she  _does_ but Black*Star is a big road bump in her path to happiness; Soul is loyal to a fault and Maka knows that he doesn’t want to hurt her brother. Maka doesn’t either but she would also like to make out with Soul in the next century. A girl can only take so many mooning stares from afar before she has to take action.

“Whatever,” Soul decides on. Maka stands up and inches closer to him. His eyes widen but he doesn’t make a move to stop her. “What’s up?”

“You’re shivering,” Maka says innocently, sticking her hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Your hands are freezing!”

He makes a little noise at the back of his throat. “M’fine.”

She sidles right up to him, intent on sharing her warmth as the sun sets. The background is almost romantic, if they ignore the mosquitos biting at their ankles and Black*Star’s gross sex moans in the distance. Maka hasn’t even had her first kiss yet and he’s banging some rando in a tent. Life is unfair. “You’re not fine. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.”

After a millisecond of hesitance and glancing around to see if anyone is watching, Soul puts his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

_Jackpot._

—

The tent is much too small for two people, so cuddling is inevitable.

It is almost comedic how they look with Maka as the big spoon but Soul whined and whined about being cold at dinner so Maka very willingly gave in once they were alone and snuggled him tightly. Without Big Brother watching, Soul feels much more comfortable about being physically affectionate with her and Maka is so pleased that camping is turning out so favorably.

However, Soul is either much too shy or much too gentlemanly to try and get into her sleeping bag and Maka is not about to let her planning go to waste.

It only takes a little bit of maneuvering and wriggling to get herself into his sleeping bag and right on top of him. There are about ten layers of clothes between them but Soul still frets and stutters uncoolly about Black*Star find them in this compromising position and Maka’s hair smells so good and her skin is so soft and she is so warm and  _oh my God, Black*Star is going to slaughter him._

“Soul, you need to live a little,” Maka says before she leans down and kisses him flush on the mouth. “Don’t worry,” she says soothingly, punctuating her longer kiss with lots of shorter ones between words, “he won’t find us. He’s busy impregnating our graduating class. Let’s just enjoy this, okay?”

Once the kissing begins, it takes very little convincing to get Soul on board. His mouth is cold but his hands are colder on the bare skin of her stomach. She shrieks a little and he laughs and they both shush each other. They alternate between kissing, giggling over stupid inside jokes, and half heartedly warning the other not to be too loud and honestly, Maka can’t be happier.

Until.

“YAHOOOOOO TIME FOR SKINNY DIPPING!!!”

Soul and Maka groan.

“I knew it was too good to last,” Maka says, pouting.

Soul kisses her bottom lip. “Let’s just pretend to be asleep. He’s not going to want you naked around sixteen hormonal teenage boys, anyway.”

“Good looks  _and_ brains. I’m into it,” Maka jokes.

Soul pulls her down deeper into the sleeping bag, chastely smooching her cheek. “Lucky for me. 


	21. Winky Face Emoji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also by rokkasen for the birthday!

“Stay the night?”

Maka pretended to consider it for a second. But only a second. Soul was being unusually brave, considering how much he feared the wrath of Black*Star, and she had to strike while the iron was hot. “Papa’s on a business trip all weekend. I could sleepover instead of crawling out of your window like some perverted Spiderman.”

Satisfied, Soul continued pressing kisses to her neck gently. He bit down on the thin skin lightly, scraping sharp teeth across her pulse point. Maka whined for him to get off of her for a second so she could properly remove her shirt and he laughed lowly, calling her impatient. His laughing was cut short when her shirt was flung onto his lamp and he realized that she was not wearing a bra.

“You left the house braless?” Soul asked, running his hands up her bare stomach.

“You always teased me that I had ‘tiny tits’,” Maka said snottily. “No bra needed.”

“God bless tiny tits.”

He managed to kiss a very intricate path between belly button and collarbone before Maka’s phone vibrated. They both ignored it in favor of Soul exploring the very soft, very interesting curve of her breast but the phone vibrated again. And again. And  _again._

Personally, Soul could care less; a nuclear bomb could go off and he would be too distracted to notice.

“Hold on, let me just see who’s texting me.”

Soul scowled. “It’s one in the morning, who could be texting you?”

She twisted awkwardly to reach for her phone. “I know, that’s why I’m worried! Just– hold on–  _Soul_!” Maka laughed and squirmed as he bit at the ticklish spot at her waist. “Down boy. Heel.” She rolled onto her stomach in retaliation but Soul only moved his assault to the small of her back. “Huh, it’s Black*Star.”

Soul paused.

A text from Black*Star at an ungodly hour was never good.

“Ignore it.”

“He’ll get suspicious if I ignore it,” Maka said. “‘What r u up to’. God, Black*Star. At least spell out the words…” She sighed. “‘Hanging out.’ That’s not a lie, right?”

“Mmm.”

The phone vibrated again. Soul silently cursed his friend for being such a cockblock. He looked over Maka’s shoulder to see what was so important that Black*Star had to ruin his chance to make beautiful, sweet, sappy love to his girlfriend.

_What wuld u be doing if i was there with you rn ;D_

Soul gaped. Maka blinked. “Probably still hanging out,” Maka replied, typing quickly. “This is so weird. He just got a new phone, maybe he’s playing around with it?”

The next text confirmed it:

_What r u wearin ;)_

“Uh.  _Pajamas_ ,” Maka typed back.

Soul tried to snatch the phone from her hands. She never needed to know what her brother was really like. Sure, Maka had  _some_ idea, but she didn’t know the true extent of how terrible Black*Star truly was when it came to flirting and dating. He wanted to protect her innocence. There were some things that were better left a mystery and Black*Star’s perversion was one of them.

“Whatever, I’m going to tell him I’m getting into the shower and going to bed.

“NO!” Soul shouted but it was too late. The damage was done.

_noice. can i get in there with you_

“What the heck? We haven’t showered together since we were six. He must be wasted.” Maka shook her head, semi-annoyed and semi-confused at her brother’s behavior. “I worry about him, I really do.”

The texts were bad but the pictures that followed were  _worse_.

The first picture message was Black*Star in the full length bathroom mirror back at the Albarns, shirtless, wearing a baseball cap, and lips pursed in a faux thoughtful position that could only be described as duck lips. Soul was beyond horrified that things had progressed this quickly. Maka hadn’t connected the dots, bless her heart.

“Seriously, what’s he up to?” Maka asked. “This is so strange.”

This was just another Saturday night for Black*Star but Soul couldn’t bring himself to tell her that.

“Oh my God!” Maka suddenly shrieked.

“What?” Soul asked, eternally concerned. “What happened?”

“ _MY BROTHER JUST SENT ME A DICK PIC!_ ” Maka cried, sitting up so suddenly that Soul was nearly thrown off the bed. “Oh my GOD, what the hell is wrong with him?! I have not seen his penis since we were in kindergarten and that’s how I wanted it to stay!!! Why would he do this?! I’m going to kill him. Oh my God, burn my eyes out, Soul. It’s the only way. I can never unsee this!”

It was time.

It was time to tell Maka the truth about Black*Star.

Soul had hoped he would never need to give her this talk but Black*Star and his idiocy had forced his hand. He sighed a deep, soul suffering sigh, plucked Maka’s shirt off the lamp (because who could get sexy after seeing Black*Star’s dick?), handed it to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Soul said, “but your brother is 100% a fuckboy of epic proportions.”

Maka tilted her head. “You mean–?”

Soul nodded grimly. “This is not his first dick pic.”

“Oh my God!” Maka gasped. “You mean some poor girl…?”

“I’m afraid so,” Soul said. “Lots of girls. And half of the football team. Maybe even a teacher or two.”

“No!” Maka gasped again, clutching her shirt to her chest. “That’s so disgusting! Kill it with fire!”

“There’s no changing him. We just need to accept it, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives,” he said sagely. “No therapist in the world can save you now. Take it from me: avoid, evade, and forget. That’s how I deal with being his friend.”

Soul held her close as Maka mourned the loss of her purity. “Soul… do you think I can still go to heaven after seeing that?”

“Probably not,” he said dryly. “But at least you’ll have good company in hell.”


	22. Soul Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul vs the vibrator, part one.

“Now blow out your candles so we can dig in! I’m starving!”

“You ate two steaks. Two. I really don’t think you’re withering away.”

“What do you know?  _BLOW,_  MAKA.”

Soul choked on his fruit punch.

With a haughty scoff, Maka jabbed a fist into her brother’s stomach and leaned daintily across the table. Soul had half a mind to warn her that her pigtails were dangling and that she was coming uncomfortably close to burning her signature hairdo off, but before he could do anything, Blair tucked the blonde hair behind Maka’s shoulders and smiled coyly at him. He felt himself shudder a little, anxiety prickling at his nose, and slouched further into the corner.

It wasn’t that he disliked Maka’s step-mother… figure? Thing? Because he didn’t. She was nice enough; she brought Maka girl shit during her time of the month (which took the responsibility off of Black Star and him, which was never a good time) and was mostly pleasant to be around. Her constant state of half dress was frustrating – and distracting, for his feeble 15 year old boy heart (read: penis) – but was tolerable, sure. He respected tits. They were whatever. It was fine.

It was the way she grinned at him that put him on edge. It was the looks she shot him when he carried Maka to bed after she fell asleep on the couch during movie nights. It was the taunting smiles and waggling of her carefully shaped brows when he (begrudgingly) held Maka’s school bag while she buckled her boots that made him uneasy.

It was the way she winked at him and twirled one of Maka’s pigtails around a finger that really made him nervous.

He tried not to stare at the way Maka’s lips shaped while she blew out her candles. He definitely didn’t stare at her throat while she sipped her own glass of punch.

“Did ya make a wish?” Black Star cackled. “Because if you ask me, you should use your wish on your tits. Skeeter bites.”

The pink flourished dangerously across the expanse of Maka’s face just as his best bro smacked him on the shoulder and tossed a grin his way. It was clear that he had to make a decision – side with Maka and face embarrassment via Black Star’s unrelenting teasing (and possibly raise suspicion) or rag on Maka’s thin (but quite nice, actually) body and meet the infamous Albarn Wrath. It was not a decision he wanted to make, but still was one he was forced to deal with on a daily basis.

He wondered how he managed to get in between the two of them. Hadn’t there been a time where he wasn’t hyper aware of Maka’s existence?

Soul shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Maka swatted at Black Star’s big head again and smiled lightly at him, fleeting and sweet, and a heat flourished in the center of his chest. He was either catching a freak stomach bug or he had the hots for his best friend’s sister, and he was really hoping it was the former. He knew it wasn’t.

“Present time!” Blair gasped. She wiggled her way off, hips shimmying in a way that had Soul looking anywhere but in her general direction.

Black Star grabbed for the knife while Maka furrowed her brows. “But I’ve already opened my presents…”

“THERE’S ONE MORE! IT’S IMPORTANT.”

Soul had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever Blair was going to give her. Maka turned in her seat and they shared a long, hesitant look; Blair meant well and they both knew it, but she tended to be overzealous and miss the mark completely.

Maka’s brows creased and she scooted her chair back. The tiara her father had forced on her was already sitting on the table, discarded now that he’d left to pick up the pizza and chicken wings. She looked less like a birthday princess and more exhausted than anything else, pigtails drooping and eyes murky with something he couldn’t place.

He had a few guesses, though. Her phone hadn’t rung once. There was only one head of blonde seated in the kitchen.

“Welcome to fifteen,” he offered.

“It feels just like fourteen.”

“BUT WITH MORE CAKE,” Black Star cackled, flopping an obnoxiously large slice of cake onto a paper plate. It toppled over, frosting smudging across the middle of the plate and he smeared his finger through it before suckling noisily.

Maka cringed. “I raised you to have better manners than that.”

“No, you really didn’t,” Soul groaned. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

Black Star continued to deepthroat the slab of marble cake, gargling what sounded like “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER” while flipping the bird in their general direction. Soul returned the sentiment with both hands.

Maka rolled her eyes and pinched his arm. “Don’t sink to his level. Leave him to choke on the candle wax.”

“He’s not dumb enough t–”

WHEEZE. Splutter.

“Goddammit, Black Star.”

As if on cue, Blair flounced back in, gift in hand decorated in white, glittery paper and purple ribbons. It was gaudy and annoying, and Soul crushed his hands further into his pockets and slouched his shoulders. The woman dropped the box onto Maka’s lap ceremoniously and simpered. Soul felt his blood run cold.

Maka shook the box and tilted her head. “What is it?”

“Open it!”

Blair’s incessant smile had even Black Star’s interest, who’d finally peeled the melted remains of Maka’s thirteenth through fifteenth candles out of his throat and stood by her side, craning his neck over her shoulder like a nosy giraffe. He was a mouth breather and earned himself a smack in the shoulder and a scolding from his sister.

Tentative hands unraveled the bow atop the gift. She widdled the ribbon down and brushed her thumb along the end of the box, where the wrapping paper had been taped down in neat triangles.

Maka tore away a slice of glittery, white paper, and he was forced to stare in barely-concealed horror as he realized that Blair, stepmother carved from the sex gods, had gotten Maka a vibrator for her birthday. Her ‘special’ gift, the one that had been set aside for later, was a tiny pink vibrator.

Her brows knitted together. “I… what?”

“Pfff–” Black Star tilted his head back and chortled, loud and clear and rattling Soul to his disturbed bones. “SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT IT IS.”

“W–”

“ _Maka,_ ” Blair said gently, leaning over and flashing an impressive amount of cleavage. He was more bothered by the box that sat on Maka’s lap, the mere existence of it sending him reeling into nasty teenage boy thoughts – daydreams that should never involve innocent Maka, pigtailed Maka, who didn’t even know what it was. “It’s a vibrator, sweetie.”

She pinked violently. “Excuse me?!”

“A vibrator!” she chirped. “It’s a toy, Maka. It’s to make you feel good and to give your sweet little fingers a break.”

Soul breathed deeply. He went over labor exercises, things he’d learned from watching too much daytime television while he was supposed to be practicing piano and sight reading. Was he getting calmer, or was he just focusing less on the sex toy that was being unboxed before big green eyes and more on the sound of his ragged wheezing?

Black Star shrieked and cackled, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. “YOU GOT – YOU GOT HER A–”

“Of course I did! She’s becoming a young woman. No young woman should have to depend on teenage boys to satisfy her sexually,” Blair practically purred, raising her brows at Soul and causing him to break out into a cold sweat. Black Star convulsed with laughter and dropped his cake onto the floor; it crashed, frosting side down, onto the kitchen tile with a stomach clenching splat.

Maka blushed so furiously that the color reached the back of her neck, clear as day and unobstructed by her faithful pigtails. He’d never wished for her to ditch the childish hairdo more than he did right then – at least then he could ignore the pretty shades of her skin and how passionately she blushed instead of gawking at her and wondering if the rest of her skin would pink that brightly, wondering if she was just as pink where her thighs met, where she’d use –

He heaved a shameful breath and slunk down onto the couch. He needed to cool it.

It was a bit of alone time he needed and for a while, he got it; Black Star had to excuse himself to the bathroom, claiming that he was going to piss himself and Blair busied both herself and Maka in the unboxing of her new toy. Any progress he’d made on calming the dastardly party in his pants was blown to smithereens when Maka flopped down beside him, knees clattering against his thigh and her new plaything sitting in the center of her lap.

Soul grunted uselessly. “What.”

Her lips pursed. “It has a remote, Soul. Why would it have a remote?”

This was unfair.

“Look,” she breathed, shoving the toy at him and pressing it against his palm. “Feel it. There are different settings–”

“Maka, I really don’t want–”

“ _Look!_ ” She insisted, tapping her finger against the remote and he nearly dropped the vibrator as it sprung to life. Maka must’ve set it on the middle setting, because it was more of a comfortable humming buzz than anything that could potentially rock her world. “It’s so noisy.”

He would probably never sleep again. “Vibrators do that,” he grunted.

“But– there’s a pulsating setting!”

Lord help him. Or end him.

There very much was a pulsating setting, and it was buzzing and humming against his hand. He clenched his fist around the cute pink vibrator and tried to will his mind out of his pants and back into the real world – back into Maka’s very wide, very green eyes staring at him with a curious ambition that did little to prevent his one way ticket to hell and broken nose.

x

The nightmares needed to stop.

And by nightmares, he meant wet dreams.

It was the least threatening vibrator he’d ever seen. It was tiny and pink, the perfect starter pack for Maka’s seuxal awakening and it haunted his dreams. How was he supposed to sleepover when she was down the hall with a sex toy in her room? How was he supposed to sleep at night knowing she now had the power to bring herself to the peak of sexual pleasure?

He was much too bothered for any boy who claimed to think of her like a little sister. Little sisters should not have such beautiful legs and wide eyes and should never sigh so contently while leaning back against her couch and kicking her heels off – something in his alcohol-laden brain twitched in response and against his better judgement, he slumped beside her.

“Drinking?”

It was a terrible idea. His normally quite reputable self control was fuzzy under the influence of bro beer and he could think of nothing but Maka Albarn’s vibrator and if it had seen the light of day.

Soul grunted noncommittally and dropped his head back against the couch.

She clicked her tongue and made to tug his plastic red cup away. “I think it’s time to settle down, Soul,” Maka cooed gently, as if speaking to a toddler. She widdled away each finger one-by-one, slowly, tenderly, and set the cup on the floor beside her foot. “There we go.”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“Friends don’t lie to each other. You’re slurring.”

They were friends, weren’t they? He slept over her house and sat at the kitchen table to eat breakfast with her on the weekends. He attended her birthday parties and helped her lug a sleeping Black Star up the front steps after falling asleep in the bed of his truck with her dog. And now, they were going to surpass their current level of brohood and become besties.

And besties talked about masturbation.

“… Friends don’t lie to each oth– Maka,” he said seriously. “Maka, do you use it?”

“Wh– No, Soul, I’m not going to drink your gross drink?”  He stared at her mouth blatantly. She furrowed her brows. “How many drinks did you have, Soul?”

He whined uselessly. “Dun’ matter. Answer the question!”

“I did?”

“Noooo,” he hissed, effectively spitting on her cheek. She cringed as he leaned in close and lifted a pigtail to scream-whisper in her ear. “ _Do you use your vibrator?_ ”

Even her neck was pink. She squeaked his name and shoved his face away, blushing vibrantly. Soul rather wanted to lick her heating skin and taste her shame. Maka wasn’t saying no and he’d need about seven buckets of brain bleach to cleanse his mind of the dirty, dirty things he was envisioning. Nerds Gone Wild had nothing on this girl.

“Where is this even coming from?” she gasped, flinching away when he stuck his tongue out and prodded her thumb. “Ew, Soul!”

“It’s okay if you do. Masturbating is normal,” he murmured, staring at the way her blush was spreading farther down her fair skin and staining her pronounced collarbone. “‘Specially with a vibrator… do you use it?”

She chewed her lip and shot a glance over her shoulder. When no overzealous big brothers came stampeding over to save her from his inquisitive stare, she shuffled and pressed her hands into her lap anxiously. Soul stared lazily at the way her skirt fell on her thighs, how the color of her skin was delicate and fair and couldn’t stop himself from wondering how pink she’d be if he bit her there.

Maka plucked at the hem of her shirt distractedly. “… Is this what you and Black Star talk about when I’m not around?”

“Sure,” he lied. “We’re bros. Bros talk about…  _we’re_  bros too, Maka.”

She swallowed noisily. “Is that what we are?”

It was all they could be. The way her toes spread and dug into the carpet was distracting, though, so he grunted instead of telling her that he wanted to pin her against the couch while her brother wasn’t looking and lick his way into her mouth. “Uhuh.”

“Good to know.”

Her eyes were burning him alive. Or maybe that was the booze. His everything was hot and his face was melting, but he couldn’t stop. He had to know. “Makaaaa.”

Pinkening, she scooted closer, brushing her knee against his. He was a live wire and he jerked, all sluggish, drunken limbs, as she cupped a hand over his ear and whispered “yes,” into his ear.

“Oh god,” he crooned, thinking of nothing but her slender legs spread wide and the mystery that was between Maka Albarn’s glorious thighs. He was in too deep.

“I mean,” she chewed her lip, fitting him with a stern gaze. “I’m not made of stone. Blair was right, it _is_  easier on my fingers–”

“Oh,  _god._ ”

“–and depending on teenage boys to satisfy me would be useless,” she said seriously. Soul felt something jump in his stomach as she stared right at him. “I’d be waiting forever.”

His mouth drooped uselessly. He might’ve drooled a bit, because Maka’s eyes fell to his lips and stayed there too long for it to be about nothing.

“… D’ya…” he licked his lips. “Which setting.”

“Soul!”

“It’s for science,” he insisted. For his overactive imagination, which was already vivid with Maka’s confirmation that yes, she had put Blair’s special gift to use and yes, she wasn’t about to wait on any boy to please her. Was he any boy? Was he even an option in her mind, or had he been damned to the realm of pseudo-brother? Was he in the same boat as Black Star, who was vibrantly protective and dumb as a sack of hammers when it came to sensitivity?

He hoped not. Soul was quite interested in Maka’s sensitivities.

“Makaaaa,” he whined again. “Which setting is your favorite?”

“Oh my god, Soul,” she said, pressing her hands to her blushing cheeks. He was just as pink, although none of it was from embarrassment; the alcohol in his system was liquid courage, truly, because there was no way he’d have the guts to ask anything of the like sober. “I don’t–”

He pouted and slouched into the couch. “‘ts not like I’m going to tell anyone. Who would I tell?”

“Uh,” she splutted, “maybe my brother?”

“I don’t have a death wish.”

If he did, he would’ve made a move on her a long time ago.

Maybe. That might’ve gone beyond death wish status. Making a move on her would involve setting aside the trembling fear of rejection along with the fear of Black Star’s holy might. He’d once watched his best bro smash a cinder block with just his head. Soul knew for a fact that he was much squishier than concrete.

Maka squirmed. “The… pulse-y one. And the last one.”

Oh, that was… interesting.  _Very_  interesting. Enough to force him to wiggle and slouch over himself, pillow in his lap, because his self control was laughable when he had booze in his system and she was so pretty, all bright, wise green eyes staring him down like a hawk. She was probably the only sober one in the room and she was on the couch with him. It was an odd sort of privilege, a strange entitlement that made his heart swell and his blood ignite.

“And what about you?”

He grabbed for a red plastic cup. “I don’t have a vibrator.”

“No,” she said seriously – whether it was about him drinking more or his answer, he was unsure. “How do you masturbate? What helps you?”

“Uh.” Was there a nice way to say you and everything you do? Because his wet dreams had been haunted by her and her damned vibrator for weeks, months, even, and even before then he still saw the straps of her cute, pink training bras and felt unfathomably aroused and ashamed. Whatever this crush was, it was kicking his ass, because suddenly seeing Maka Albarn in her completely unsexy two-piece bathing suit made his mouth dry and his trunks uncomfortable.

And because he was a goddamn idiot, he stared uselessly at her legs and tried to collect his pride all the while gawking. He didn’t even blink. “Porn.”

“Of course,” she said dryly.  _“Porn_.”

It wasn’t like he could tell the truth. It would only make things weird and tense between them, and even if he would never get the chance to hold her hand or maybe even kiss her, he still wanted to be near her. He couldn’t be her boyfriend, or her future husband, or anything of the sort, but he could still be her friend and that was enough for him. She was in his life and he wanted things to remain that way, even if it meant he would inevitably have to watch a suitor ride in on a white horse and whisk her away.

He was still staring at her thighs when he gulped and muttered, “yeah”, and watched Maka press a palm flat over her lap. The temptation to cover it with his own was suffocating and he was not in control over the whine in the back of his throat, jesus help him.

“What kind?”

Goodbye censor. Goodbye penis. “Uuuuuh, the kind with… naked girls. ‘Nd skirts.” Her gaze was scalding, searching, and he looked pointedly at her shoulder. “…  _Tongues_  ‘nd stuff.”

“ _Under_  the skirts?”

“Mmmh.”

She smiled, placated, and brushed the fringe from his eyes. His hair was wild and his face hot, and when her cool hand skimmed over his forehead, he sighed and leaned into her touch. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Come with?”

Her lips on his skin didn’t even register; he was too busy drowning in waves of green and thinking about pink, pink, pink and the pulse-y setting, and what Maka might look like when she came undone. (For him).

Maka pulled herself off the couch and held out her hands for him. He clasped fingers with her and she lifted him to his feet easily, wedging herself beneath his arm to sturdy him. Soul took great pleasure in slinging an arm around her shoulders and leaning his weight on her; she smelled like simple soap and it did nothing to quell the thumping of his heart. “You can camp out in my room,” she said, smiling, and Soul’s blood burned.

He was so fucked.


End file.
